


Splintered Dreamstones

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Series: Choose the Dress [3]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: The second part of Choose the Dress, Drop the Mittwritten because of popular demand.Mike Lawson is back in the life of Ginny Baker, sports physical therapist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortunatedaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/gifts).



The tragedy of heroes and idols, Cute Mug tells that one night when they’re out for drinks after dinner at this hip new place in the heart of San Diego – is that they _never_ live up to your expectations.

“I mean, I gotta tell you – Gin.” Dr. Mugh slurs. “I met John McEnroe once and the guy was -!” He absurdly widens his eyes. “-he was the _worst_! I tell you if there’s a competition for the biggest jerk in tennis – that was him.”

(He isn’t comparable to Mike in anyway – Ginny wants to tell him.) “Yyyyeahh.” She drawls sarcastically. “I don’t think you really have to meet McEnroe to know that.”

“But he was my hero.” Mugh whines.

And Ginny cannot fathom why (but hey! – who is she to judge? She actually went all out and developed an abnormally inappropriate attraction to her hero - _who_ was her patient.).

“But McEnroe was _…._.” Mugh launches into an unimpressive tirade on John McEnroe’s achievements.

Ginny zones out. Her mind drifting to the reason they were having this conversation in the first place….

That’s right…Mugh’s trying to console her.

She realizes at that point when Mugh starts ratting out McEnroe’s post-sports career stint as a musician that her life had been split into three innings.

The first - rather commonplace, disillusioning and relatively repetitive story of a professional athlete-in-the-making, whose skill was ultimately only useful enough to get her a full scholarship into college – the life before Mike Lawson ended up as her patient.

The second, a short-lived twist of fate, when the man on the wall ended up with a complicated knee surgery at the hospital she worked and somehow, they became a bonded like a pair of ragamuffins thrown together by circumstance – the short phase - with Mike Lawson.

And then, there was the after. The after – where she lives in now. Where her days drift by, yet she stays still. In the doldrums of work and home and trying to focus on applying for a doctorate, a prospect that she no longer finds exciting.

_BM. WM. AM - before Mike, with Mike, after Mike.)_

 

Ginny Baker wonders how she became the biggest cliché that ever existed.

 

(The first week in the AM – she could hardly manage a smile.

The day after he left, it was only when her time-limited key card to the VIP ward didn’t take on the elevator – that she remembered that he was gone. That he wouldn’t greet her with a ‘Rookie’ wisecrack that day. That there’d be no bushy whiskered self-assured grin, no twinkle in hazel eyes to look forward to.

How had he become so integral to her life?

Ginny pushed through that week – but just barely.

 _It’s natural to feel like this_ , she kept telling herself. _It’s no big deal. It’s natural to miss your patient._

She spent most of her time thinking about him, wondering what he was doing at the moment, wondering if he was in pain, wondering if he found some other young eager lady friend to bond with. She drifted in and out of her schedule like a zombie, forcing the staggering feeling of loss away from her mind. She spent her nights smiling over the moments they shared.

In her dreams – memories would replay.)

 

“So- what I’m sayin’ to ya.” Cute Mug drags on, garnering Ginny’s attention where she unhappily realizes that he’s still going on about McEnroe. “Is…that heroes – are only good for a wall.”

If only that were true about Mike.

Turns out, he wasn’t a ‘fruit basket-and-a thank you note’ kinda guy. If he was, she thinks it would have been easier to forget about him.

 

(A week after he was discharged, a large bouquet of white daisies was hand delivered by a _Padres_ Club guy to her office.

There’s a note: _I’m sorry. Thank you._

His personal cell number was scrawled at the bottom

Daisies are boring flowers. Anyone would have misconstrued his intentions as being dismissive – and obligatory.

But –

Daisies happen to be her favourite. It’s a closely guarded secret and she’ll never know how he found that out.)

 

“Why are you telling me all this?” She says, feeling tired and thinking that she’s maybe had one too many to drink.

“Because you’ve been mopey.”

“I’ve not been mopey!”

“Yeah, you have – ever since Lawson was discharged.”

Apparently her behaviour doesn’t leave much to question around that hospital. Ginny thinks maybe it’s about time she starts looking for a new job.

 

(She sent him a text: _Thank you for the flowers. They were lovely._

She didn't expect a reply but it still stung that there was no reply for a week.

Then, one night, after she finished up a particularly tiring shift, she checked her phone to find that she had missed two calls from the same number. She dialled in the first voice mail.

 _“Baker – it’s me. M-Mike.”_ Ginny’s breathing seized. _“Mike…Lawson.”_

Ginny closed her eyes and let his low, gruff voice wash over her.

_“Look - I’m not a really articulate guy. Alright? If you tell me to give you a motivational speech – I’ll do it. I’m really good at speeches for these new jokers they keep springing on me every year. You didn’t call. I don’t know if sending you flowers was inappropriate.”_

He broke off and sighed. _“Shit! I dunno - how to do this! Look, I’m in LA for now. Gotta sort through some stuff. I’m touring with the team - season’s starting. Sandler’s hopeful about me being able to play a couple after a two months but I gotta be with my team. Y’know?”_

There was a pause.

“ _What I’m saying is - I can’t come and do this personally. I mean I was hoping you’d call but - ”_

Another pause and an audible huff.

_“Look – I’ll just come out and say it. I was a real dick to ya. I was – I was angry – and I didn’t know how to feel or behave. It was – my world was falling apart. Y’know? Rachel – my knee – the damn surgery – I thought I was never gonna…!”_

He broke off, and Ginny felt a shudder down her spine, at the sound of loud exhale of air _._

His voice drops – to a kinder, less agitated tone. “ _And then, you come along. And you – you kind of blow me away.”_

He heaves another sigh. _“I’m sorry that I gave you such a hard time and I wanna thank you – for helping – for being so gracious to me. I know you put in more hours than you needed to - for me.”_

There was a hesitant snort.

_“Y’know – when we get famous. When we become celebrities-  there’re a lot of people who claim to be friends.”_

There’s a small pause.

 _“Rookie, I know you were doing your job – but I think– there was..”_ He huffed and continued in a louder tone. “ _I mean! Don’t tell me you play baseball in the hospital garden with all your old dickhead douchebag patients -”_

Ginny bit down on her lip, stifling a small giggle. There’s a loud long beep – and she groaned angrily. He’d been cut off.

She fumbled to the next voice message and sighed out in relief seeing that it was from the same number. 

She laughed out in relief when she heard his mutter.  _“Damn voice mail cut me off.”_ There was a sigh.

_“Anyway, Baker – what I was trying to say is. I know you were doing your job but – I think, that you were a lot nicer to me than I deserved. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable...I just want you to know how much I appreciate that. I want say thank you….Y’know Nurse Dacey told me that it was your birthday – the day we met…I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Baker…the way I behaved with you – it was unacceptable.”_

There was a nervous chuckle. 

_"Ten years a poster on your wall – you’d think I’d have gotten the whole role model thing right at least once. God! I cannot tell you what a fuckin’ asshole I felt like -  when I heard!”_

There was a pause. Ginny smiled, unwittingly.

_“I’ve never ever been able to work the guts to say sorry…and I just – look the voicemail thing’s beepin’. Baker, I’m back in San Diego after about six weeks – can I see you? Give me a chance to do this properly. Please?”_

The voicemail cut him off.

She texted him - her heart beating out of rhythm while she typed: _No Apologies needed, Old Man._

She moistened her lip and sent him another: _See you, when you get back._

He replied with a smiley face emoji.)

 

A perfect catch 22 – Mike Lawson.

If he’d have just been a selfish jerk and forgotten about her – this would have been so easy. The problem with _her_ hero – (or maybe he’s not a hero anymore because he’s so real, now) – is that he actually lived up to her expectations as the end of it all.

He was nice. He was funny. He was caring. He made an effort to appreciate the people who helped him.

Every now and then he sends her postcards - he’s old fashioned like that. He sends her special tickets. Sometimes, she’s surprised with autographed photos from players that he knows she admires with little care notes like, _bumped into Jeter_ or _ran into Ortiz_ et cetera.

The fact that he thinks about her at all - that he makes time to send her stuff – it makes her heart skip a beat.

He was – he was everything she hoped for and more and Ginny realizes that he’d left a life-sized gaping hole in her heart and her life the day he left the hospital.

Ginny sighs and shakes her head. The lights, the music, that smokey incense like fragrance floating through the air mixed with the smell of people’s sweat are giving her a headache.

“I gotta say though – at least Lawson thanked me.” Cute Mug says, suddenly.

“Lawson sent you exclusive invites to the most happening lounge in San Diego and VIP box passes for the next game at Petco.” Ginny says, smiling at him. “I’d say he more than thanked you.”

Cute Mug’s in tears now. “But Mac – Mac was – he was my hero, GinGin!”

“Okay. Dr. M.” She smiles, and calls the bartender to close the tab. “I think that’s it for you.”

He only calls her GinGin when he’s completely pissfaced. Ginny chuckles and shakes her head, reaching for her phone to book an Uber.

“I know the whole damn world thinks that Mac was –!“ Cute Mug says, tapping her shoulder, trying to reiterate his point. Suddenly, he stops talking and his eyes focus beyond hers.

A wide, drowsy smile engulfs his face. “Hey! Mike Lawson! We were just talking about you!”

A chill passes through her. For a second, all she can feel is the thumping base reverberating through her.

She wheels around slowly on her barstool and there he is – looking like a sexy lumberjack. Wearing this dark blue blazer with no tie – with a matching pocket-square (like – only he could make a pocketsquare look sexy).

His hazel eyes look a shade of purple in the light of the lounge or maybe it’s that scowl on his face – directed in particular at Cute Mug.

“Rookie.” He says, nodding at her, unsmilingly.

“H-Hi!” She stutters. “I uh – I thought you were in Atlanta.”

He’s not very pleased with Cute Mug – she can tell because he’s got his eye on the hand that’s resting on her bare shoulder. Ginny realizes then that the strap of her dress slipped off.

“I got it.” He says, suddenly.

“Wh-what?”

He nods. She doesn’t understand until the bartender’s voice hits her ear. “Oh, I didn’t know they were with you, Mr. Lawson. That’s fine, then.”

“No! Mike!” She says, realizing what’s going on. She shrugs off Mugh’s hand and grapples with her purse, shaking her head. “No, we – we got this. Dr. M and I - we had a lot. Really the invites were more than enough! You don’t have to…”

A large hand covers hers, stilling her fingers. Ginny’s heart slows down for an instant before heat flushes her body and her pulse quickens. Her eyes are fixed on his hand. It curls into a loose claw – his fingers slipping between the spaces of hers, his thumb and index running along the calluses along the edge of digits.

She snaps her head up at him, swallowing thickly. That deadpan expression hasn’t left his face – but his eyes, they’re just – filled with this mix of surprise like he wasn’t planning on doing what he was doing and there’s this longing in them that – she – she can’t –

“I got this.” He says, his voice thick and reassuring.

Dr. Mugh, just out of the blue, decides to burst into tears at that moment. Ginny turns around and looks at him, perplexed.

“I mean, it’s not fair – y’know!” He bawls. “Like – your hero – he’s like – _nice_! He doesn’t snub you when you want his autograph. He picks up your bar tab!”

“Oh. My. God.” She mutters and turns around giving Mike a sheepish smile.

Mike’s face has relaxed a little – there’s something akin to confusion in his eyes. He frowns, perplexed at Cute Mug. “What is he talking about?” He says, his voice crusty.

“We were talkin’ about our heroes!” Mugh laments from behind her.

“John McEnroe.” Ginny says, blandly. “His hero.” She rolls her eyes.

Mike’s face changes into that hilariously knowing expression where his eyes crinkle and those forehead furrows appear. He ducks his head forward. Ginny tells herself that the little skip and roll her heart does is probably related to the loud bass in the club.

“Why?” he asks.

“Beats me.” She says, gulping. She pulls her hand away from under his and grabs the edges of the bar to enable her to get off the barstool.

Mike stills her with a hand on her shoulder. The touch feels warm and Ginny feels sparks fly through her body - southwards. With his index, he draws the fallen strap over her shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on her face – his fingernail gently scraping over the curve of her shoulder.

Ginny feels branded – somehow. She can’t explain it. She should thank him – or she should reprimand him for taking liberties with her.

“He was awful!” Cute Mug blubbers – thankfully drawing her attention.

“Okay, Dr. M!” Ginny says, withdrawing from Mike – feeling her breathing ease at the loss of contact. She hops off the stool. “Now, C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

“Doesn’t make for such a Cute Mug, now, does he?” She hears Mike mutter as he comes to the other side.

“You know about that, huh?”

He grimaces. “Dacey and Roberts redefined the term loud gossip for me.”

“Yeah, they are.” She plans to take Mugh’s arm around her shoulder, but Mike’s already got him standing up by keeping a firm grip on his elbow.

“I’ll book an _Uber_  for him.” She says.

“No, there’s a car that can take him.” Mike says. When Ginny hesitates, Mike winks at her, making her heart do the skip-and-roll again. “Don’t worry, Baker. I know a guy.”

Mugh obediently follows their lead, pouting and whining about McEnroe.

“You don’t get it, GinGin.” Mugh laments. “He was dick to me. He wouldn’t sign my tennis racquet.”

“Yeah, he was a dick to everybody.” Mike says.

“Yeah, but he’s not like your guy.” Mugh turns around and punches Mike in the bicep. Ginny bites back her smile at the comical mix of a frown and a grimace that emerges on Mike’s face.

“I was a dick to her, too.” Mike says – sounding more amused now.

Ginny gives him a look that says ‘Ya think?’.

“That’s ‘cuz you was in pain, man! We get it – McEnroe - he was not like your guy!” Mugh whines looking at her.

“No one’s like my guy.” She says, looking up at Mike and smiling warmly.

Mike looks a little taken aback when she does that. Then, he responds with a tender smile of his own.

 

(There’s been a steady avalanche of gossip and mayhem surrounding him – none of it related to baseball.

Ginny’s seen all the pictures of him with a number of very attractive women, partying and well – there’s that explicit photograph of him getting blowed by some redhead - Ginny connects it to Rachel immediately.

Apparently, he’s taken to becoming America’s favourite man-slut.

A few days earlier, he released a press statement that Rachel and he were separating.

There’s enough questions if the trauma of his illness has affected his personal life – and there’s rumors that it might affect his game once he gets back on the field.

She tries not to think about it – she tries to push it away from the person, she hopes she knows.)

 

“D’you think he’ll be okay?” She says, shivering from the cold, as she looks on at the disappearing taillights of the car.

She feels the warmth of his jacket surround her shoulders. She catches a whiff of his scent and resists the urge to sigh.

“Yeah – I think so.” He says. "That guy cannot hold his drink."

She snorts in agreement. "Good thing he doesn't operate tomorrow." She says. “So.” She turns around. She doesn’t know why – but she feels elated now, seeing him. “How are you?”

His face relaxes. He grins at her and says. “I’m – I’m good. What about you?” 

He jerks his head, indicating for her to walk with him.

She follows his steps. “Y’know," She says, shrugging. "Same old. Routine, boring stuff.”

“Oh. More washed up major-leaguers, breaking windows with their homeruns?” He says, a light teasing one filtering through.

She’s sniggering as soon as he mentions at it. “Only the special ones get to break windows.” She says, holding back her chuckles. “I’ve got a professional ballerina as a patient now. She reminds me of you.”

“She’s a thirty-six-year-old catcher with bad knees?”

Ginny throws her head back and laughs out loud at that. “Nope.” She says. “Nah! Nah! I mean she’s a little shit with resting bitch face.”

“Ah.” He says, making a pensive facial shrug. "So a lot like me, then."

“She’s a tiny nasty little thing! Thinks she knows everything! _Loves_ to give me hell!” Ginny says, drawing the lapels of his jacket inwards, relishing the comforting warmth it brings.

“You can take her." He says, sounding amused. "I know you can.”

“Wow! I am not supposed to be discussing my other patients with you.”

“That’s okay." He teases. "I’ll keep your dirty little secrets.”

“She’s so angry!" Ginny says, smiling up at the profile of his face as she walks. "She won the part of the _white swan_ in some German production of _Swan Lake,_ but she hurt herself. Now, she’ll have to sit it out this year. Sixteen and so bitter.” Ginny sighs. “I guess, I can forgive you for being a grump to me, Old Man.”

He chuckles softly and sticks his tongue at the back of his teeth.

Ginny smiles – she missed that facial expression he made. 

They walk a few steps in a comfortable silence.

“How are you, Mike?” She asks, sighing herself into seriousness.

“I don’t…know, Baker.” He says, shaking his head and looking down at his knees as he walks. “Sandler’s starting me out at the next game. No catching. He thinks the cartilage has healed well. Smith and he went through the scans, and they concur. But, I dunno - I feel something’s just not right.”

She nods and walks besides him.

“Sandler says I should just – sit this one out if there’s still pain.” He shrugs. “I can’t do that, Rookie.” He shakes his head. “I mean it’s bad enough being in the dugout, knowing that Duarte’s younger and his knees don’t crack every time he sits, but it's worse knowing he's just one call up away from taking my job. If I have to sit this one out like I’m some aging guru to these stupid twenty-three-year-old clowns they’ve hired as ballplayers…I might as well hang my cap up now.”

“What does Sandler think?”

“He thinks it’s phantom pain.” Mike says, looking up at the sky, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She nods - she doesn’t want to comment on it without knowing the full picture, plus – it’s no longer her business any more. He’s not under her care.

“What do you think?” He asks her, pointedly, looking at her.

“Sandler is the best, you should trust him.”

“But I trust you more.” He says, quickly, stopping in his tracks, turning to face her. Ginny, suddenly, finds herself looking straight into his hazel eyes. He’s peering at her face, gauging how she reacts. She hesitates.

“Mike I haven’t worked with you since...”

“I think – that something’s not right.” He interrupts her. “– but I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is.” He sighs and rubs his face.

Ginny resists the urge to reach her hand to smoothen out a twisted lock of hair on his beard.

“And I’m – I don’t wanna tell ‘em because…” He says, clearing his throat and looking at spot on the pavement.

“Because they’ll bump you to the DL.” She nods, completing his statement. “Maybe force you to retire. And you wanna play as long as you can.”

“How is it that you get me in a second and this whole group of PTs who spend all their time with me, don’t?” He says, looking at her amazed.

“I’m also standing atop of a hillock made of splintered dreamstones.” She says.

“Never pegged you for a poet.”

“Never pegged you for a quitter.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“You sound like you want to.”

He rolls his head back and sighs. “I’m not – I’m just, I’m just too old for it, y’know? The politics, the hide and seek with the club’s management. I’ve got a team full of these kids who –“ He throws his hands up, frustrated. “- o’Brien spends more time gelling his hair than he practices his swing.”

Ginny breaks into a quiet laugh.

He’s chuckling too, shaking his head, grimacing in a resigned manner. His face straightens, like he’s realized something. “I’m not allowed to be sharing my opinions with -“

“That’s okay.” She says, teasing him softly. “I’ll keep your dirty little secrets.”

“Yeah you will.” He says, cocking his head at her.

The air has changed between them, somehow. It feels electric, flirtatious and intimate. He steps closer.

“Mike!” A female voice cuts through.

Ginny’s smile fades when she sees a buxom blonde with giraffe legs wearing a tiny dress strut towards them.

“Yo! Lawson!” Someone else calls. A small band of _Padres_ players stumbling out of the lounge’s side exit following her, all having barely legal but certainly drunk groupies flanking them.

“C’mon! Man!” A man she recognizes as Rodriguez yells.

“Hey! Isn’t that the girl who fixed Old Man Lawson’s knees up?” Someone remarks, loud enough for her to hear.

“Damn! She fine!” Another guy hollers and then whistles.

She wants to correct them by giving due credit to his surgeons but someone else comments. “Damn if I knew she’d be so hot, I’d've busted my knees a long time ago.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Men!” She mutters to herself and turns to Mike. She shrugs his jacket off and hands it to him. He doesn’t take it. He looks furious.

“Stubbs!” Mike roars, making them all jump – Ginny included. “You better watch your damn mouth!”

There’s a general grumbling buzz among them and they drift away. She finds it oddly comforting to know that locker room trash talk hasn’t changed since she was playing.

“I’m sorry.” He says, looking at her, then frowning and taking the jacket. “Those – guys they can be -!”

She brushes it away with a wave of her hand.

“I should go.” Ginny says. “It’s late.”

“Let me drop you.” He says.

The blonde has already fused herself to his side. Mike appears completely unaffected by her presence. He even acts like it’s the most natural thing. There’s not a sliver of awkwardness on his face. He puts his arm around the girl absentmindedly. He doesn’t bother introducing them.

Ginny gives Blondie a polite nod and gets a catty scowl in return.

That's when Mike suddenly looks at the woman rubbing up his side and the snaps his head back to Ginny. Like he’s just registered Blondie's presence.

Ginny gives him a silent smile as a goodbye and turns around.

“Baker! Wait!”

Ginny doesn’t.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to lawofavgs and midnightxgarden for the baseball understanding.  
> the physiotherapy and medical stuff is sound though.

The biggest mistakes that healthcare professionals tend to make, is trivializing the power of the human intuition.

As a rule, she never takes the words (or words along similar lines of): “I don’t know, something’s wrong. I don’t know what.” lightly.

Ginny considers herself fortunate to have figured this out during the earlier years of the undergrad training. While she would tag along on rounds with senior physiotherapists she would take note of how they dismissed symptoms that patients complained about chronically as psychological causes, if they could find no organic or plausible reasons. It wasn’t lack of sensitivity coming out of overworked, underpaid PTs. At some point, every one of them begins to learn to differentiate the cranky from the critical.

Most of the time, they were right about the symptoms being psychological. Sometimes wouldn’t just be pain - it would be a quirk, a spasm or some odd feeling that just came in the way of routine activities or some time a nagging ache that came up at the worst possible time. Complaints were inversely related to the level of emotional stability. Sometimes a patient’s usual stamina would merely deplete temporarily because there was a fight at home and translate into some physical manifestation that they couldn’t explain. It didn’t have to be physiological at all.

But for an athlete, Ginny believed and her belief was reinforced by experience eventually - symptoms - whether real or imagined have grave consequences. For a normal person, the occasional stab of pain is transient and they can adjust their movements around it. If there’s a muscle injury in one calf, they just put weight on the other leg – if it’s a back sprain – they rest up. If there’s a shoulder catch – they ease up on their upper limb activities.

For a player – there’s no scope to dally. Every luxury that can be afforded to a normal person by a physical ailment – costs much more for the athlete.

 

Ginny gets up for her morning run and sees a voicemail a week after seeing him at that lounge. She checks the time of the message and reasons that he deliberately called at an ungodly hour where there was no chance for her to be awake.

 _“Hi, it’s me.”_ He sounded drunk. “ _I know you’re probably sleeping – or maybe with someone. I – uh – I didn’t want to disturb you.”_   She heard a small sob.

“ _I’m – Something’s wrong Baker. Everyone says it’s fine – everyone thinks it’s in my head. It’s not. I feel like a shitfuck whenever I’m in a game. I can’t explain it. I just know something’s wrong.”_ He breaks off and sighs. He stops speaking and breathes into the phone for a good minute.  

 _“I gave my life to this game.”_ He says, sounding so sad, that Ginny wishes she had been awake.

The voicemail ends there.

(A text buzzed in right after she came back from her run: _Rookie – Sorry. Was drunk. Won’t happen again.)_

 

 

It all starts with that last game that the _Padres_ play with the _Cubs_.

She’s sitting in front of her TV, chomping down her feelings on supersized pre-packaged bag of butter-caramel popcorn.

She tells herself that he’s probably latched on to her for the occasional drunk dial because he probably knew that she was a loser who didn’t have a boyfriend and a life.

She’s trying unsuccessfully to get the image of the nonchalant bearded hick-faced ballplayer, ex-idol that she has more-than-platonic feelings for, with his arms around that human twentieth-century figured _Barbie_ -doll - because at least they made _Barbies_ more realistic after 2000s.

She repeatedly – _repeatedly_ tells herself she’s only watching his games out of academic interest. She tells herself austerely that she is not a groupie. She’s a fan. That there’s a difference.

She’s about the baseball and Lawson was no more than a teenage crush that might have gotten out of hand for a bit there.

She tells herself that her heart racing when the camera pans to Mike Lawson walking to the batter’s box, adjusting his gloves – has everything to do with concern about his performance and absolutely nothing with this stupid-ass attraction she feels.

(He’s decided to drown his marital woes in sex and debauchery – she tells herself.

She doesn’t need men like that in her life anyway.)

He had played a couple of games in the last few weeks – batting only. She internally calculates that prolonged squatting is tough for him, maybe that’s why they’re not putting him in as a catcher or even on the field. Just a few innings per game, but - by all that is sacred - he delivered. Home runs for the most part.

Ginny wonders, as she watches, if she had imagined the lag she noticed in his leg in the last game. She wonders if the skirting of his feet over the grass whenever he jogged around the diamond was some camera trick or satellite delay.

She hopes he was just kidding about what he told her the other night.

More than that, there’s a growing fear in her belly when she observes his movements as captured by the cameras.

She hopes she’s wrong.

This game’s tough. The Cubs and Padres are neck and neck. Lawson’s called up to bat. He hits one and runs - he traverses first – second and frog jumps and skids to be declared safe on third…

…and that’s it.

He doesn’t get up. He’s lying there face down for a crazy amount of time. Ginny drops the popcorn when he flips over his back – his face is contorted in pain, he pulls up his better leg, grimacing and she can’t hear it but she knows he’s crying out.

She sighs and hugs her folded knees. She hates being right.

The way he reaches for his operated knee - she knows it immediately.

He’s not going to be able to play for, at least another couple of weeks.

 

 

When she was twelve –  she developed a sprain in her pitching arm. It was nothing compared to the other injuries she’d incurred in her short, eventful life. She did not want to tell anyone - she was sure as hell not gonna tell her Pop - because Pop’s philosophy of ‘Push through the pain and don’t complain, little girl’ was a mantra that had gotten stuck way earlier in her sensitive little psyche.

But Pop didn’t need to be told, young Ginny would understand, then. He caught the third ball that she flung and stared at her pointedly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, chewing gum, his unsympathetic eyes narrowing towards her.

“Nothin’ Pop.” She said, channelling her teenage resolve, refusing to wince.

“Why’re you throwing like that?”

She threw beautifully. She didn’t know why he was cribbing. She threw another ball and this time – a perfectly decent fastball - he rose to full height.

Ginny watched his eyes soften, his chewing slowed down. For that moment, as he observed her, she felt soothed and pampered, even without him closing the sixty odd feet distance.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” He said, the sternness in his voice no longer there.

She wasn’t to accustomed to anything but tough love on his part. Ginny didn’t know why – the soft edge of his voice had her lower lip quivering.

“C’mere, baby girl.” He said, but actually - he was the one walking towards her.

For that moment, Bill Baker felt like her dad more than a coach. He picked up on the pain – something she hid so well - even her mom couldn’t sniff it out. 

The thing Ginny grasped much later, in life – he _was_ more of a coach right then, not her dad. He knew something was wrong just by the way she threw.

 

 

 

Ginny’s cheeky sixteen-year-old ballerina, Risa is competing aggressively for the ‘most painful pain in the ass award’ right about the time that Mike walks in to the callisthenics room.

She’s trying to palpate the arch of Risa’s foot, checking the site of the stress fracture, while Risa bitches, moans and snipes at her.

“Hey look!” Risa says, distracting her. “There’s some guys there – they’re waiting on ya.”

 “Okay, honey, if you say so. Can you focus, please?” She manages out, not looking backwards.

“Doctor Baker?” A somewhat-but-not-quite familiar voice interrupts.

“Sir, I’m in the middle of something!” She says, loudly, still focused on Risa when she assists her to _en pointe._ For someone who’s so tiny with such delicate bone structure, Risa feels heavier.

Ginny bends down to examine her hyperextended foot. Just, as she is able to find the spot that Risa’s been complaining about, Risa fucking decides to walk on _pointe_.  

“Dammit!” Ginny snaps, when Risa tips away and wavers. “Risa! Cut it out!”

“He kinda looks like that dude in the _Amityville Horror_ movie.” She says, peering above Ginny’s head.

Ginny’s head turns when that familiar, booming laughter hits her ear. That smile of his makes her forget that she’s supposed to be annoyed at him or that the little snob she’s got as a patient is making like hell for her.

He’s not alone, he’s standing with that manager of the Padres she’d seen earlier – Al Luongo – who doesn’t seem as amused as he is.

“Hi!” Ginny wheezes out, because she’s bent over her ass and hissing at Risa to stop walking on her toe tips. “Sorry guys! I don’t mean to be rude but you can’t be in here.” She huffs out.

“Sorry, Miss Baker,” She hears Luongo speak. “They just sent us right in. They didn’t tell us you were busy.” 

“Big Foot’s staring at your ass.” Risa pipes out, sounding particularly bitchy.

(Ginny smiles inwardly as Mike’s laughter seizes – because that oughta’ teach him!)

“Fatso looks like that creep at the convenience store.”

(She hears Luongo clear his throat, indignantly.)

“Will you concentrate please!” Ginny snaps, grunting as she rises, keeping Risa steady as the young girl winces. Ginny huffs out. Risa gracefully flares her arms up, with her index pointed delicately outwards, balancing herself.

“I would if you stopped being such a bitch to me!” The girl gripes, while Ginny assesses her stance.

And then by some miracle, she stops fucking around and stays still.

“They’re still here. They’re violating my privacy – aren’t they?” She goads.

“Guys!” Ginny says, throwing her head back, distractedly.

“Yeah – we – we’ll wait at your office.” She hears Mike say. He sounds like he’s stifling back laughter.

She turns around purposefully, nonetheless, to watch their retreating backs.

There’s that subtle drag in his gait. She notices it and it doesn’t make her happy.

 

“You’re gonna be in trouble.” Risa sing songs as she skips alongside her while Ginny heads to her office.

Ginny feels like a kid in high school being picked on, again. Risa’s taken to hounding her, for some inexplicable reason – even after their session is done.

“Risa, we’re done!” She hisses. “You can go, now.”

She turns into her office to nod at both men and then looks back at Risa expectantly – who won’t leave.

“I’m gonna tell on ya.” Risa sings. “You violated the hippo thing. You let two old dudes ogle at me.”

“Okay. Firstly. It’s HIPAA.” She corrects her. She’s also close to the edge of shouting now. “Secondly while they _might_ have accidentally walked in on our session, they weren’t _ogling_ at you!”

She moves inside, and groans when Risa follows her in. Luongo smiles at her in sympathetic resignation. Mike’s leaning against her desk chewing gum looking entertained at her interaction with little-miss-bitchy-swan

“But you allowed my privacy to be violated.” Risa says, sounding sweetly innocent.

“Sweety, you took a picture of your boobs and shared it with everyone on Instagram.” Ginny bites out, unable to keep a grip on her temper. “I’d say your privacy was violated a long time ago.”

Mike snorts, looking away. Luongo just looks uncomfortable and looks at the wall away the minute Ginny says ‘boobs’.

Risa’s mouth widens as she gasps.

“I’m gonna get your sorry ass fired, Miss Thing.” She narrows her eyes at Ginny.

“Yeah…” Mike intervenes – his mouth wide in an open grin and his cheekbones rising to hide his eyes. “Threats don’t work with Baker.”

“What are you still doing here, Risa?” Ginny yells – at that point.

“I wanna get a selfie with Papa Bear there.” She points to Mike. She throws Mike a snooty look like she’s trying to show him that she doesn’t care. “My brother’s a fan. He’ll totally hate me if he sees I got a selfie with Mike Lawson.”

(The idea that, apparently, Risa is a bitch to her family members as well gives Ginny a strange sense of comfort.)

“Oh hey! I’m always game for a selfie.” Mike drawls, in a bedroomy kind of voice that completely wipes that sneer from the little shitface. Ginny rolls her eyes as Risa smiles flirtatiously.

She also suspects he’s doing it as a gesture to make life easier for Ginny.

 

“Kids these days.” Luongo mutters to her as they watch Lawson and Risa make duckfaces at her purple cased phone. “I swear it’s like they’re forcing themselves to grow up before their time!”

Ginny shrugs her eyebrows.

“We’re here, privately, Miss Baker. Or should I call you Dr. Baker?” He says.

“Ginny’s fine.”

“Baker, it is then. I’ve known Blake Sandler many years.” Luongo says. “We’re friends. I trust him.”

“And you should.”

“I don’t want him knowing I was shopping for a second opinion.”

_Oh._

She opens her mouth to say something and then purses it in a smile.

“For the record, Mike doesn’t admit he’s not fine to just anyone.” Luongo says. “But for some reason, he’s okay with discussing his injuries with you.”

She’s not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.

“I’m presumin’ you saw that game we played against the Cubs.” He says. “Sandler was sayin’ that his knee was getting better.” Luongo shakes his head, when Risa titters out a flirty laugh. Ginny concludes that there’s just been a new addition to the Mike Lawson fan club.

“Mike’s a soldier – he kept stepping up to the plate – literally. He hates sitting on the bench – that’s his problem. And then shit happened. We had to take him that night to hospital to get a steroid shot – it was the only way he could sleep.”

She sighs.

“Both Dr.Smith and Sandler have been through the scans, there’s never any pain when they examine him off field.”

“What about when he trains?”

“Doesn’t complain about it as much. Says it always hits him when he’s getting into the game. Sandler feels the pain is psychological. Related to performance anxiety.”

“I see.”

“You don’t agree.” He says, peering into her face.

“I don’t know.”

“Humour me, Baker. I’m not gonna sue ya. This is an off-the book consultation.”

She shrugs. “He’s Mike Lawson. I don’t think he’s had performance anxiety since the nineties.”

Luongo coughs out a wry laygh.

Risa’s finally sauntered off. Ginny nods at Mike as he turns towards them and walks. She sees the foot drag when he goes to instep. It’s subtle – but it’s there.

She sighs and says. “I need to see him play.”

“Like here?” Luongo says, sounding doubtful. “I heard he broke the window of the Oncology ward.”

Ginny gurgles out in laughter. Lena Cassidy’s face snaps to mind and she laughs more. Luongo snorts beside her.

Mike’s eyes meet hers, when she’s laughing. He’s got a peculiar look – a smile in his eyes but not on his lips.

“No – I mean – like when he’s on a field.” She says. “There’s a park near the hospital. That could work if you have the time.”

Luongo looks at her peculiarly and then nods. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Baker. Lemme do you one better.”

 

 

 

When Ginny steps out into a lush green expanse sparkling in the afternoon sun, the first thing she catches is sight of the Western Metal Mining Company building. She looks around in awe at the sparsely filled seats around the empty stadium with the occasional cluster of fans coming out to watch the team practice.

She feels like a privileged beneficiary of destiny, to be able to be inside the Park. Her ragtag cleats feel out of place in the perfectly manicured beauty as Luongo escorts her to the training area.

Mike’s waiting for her there, dressed up in his training gear.

He probably notices the look on her face, she deduces, when he smiles at her knowingly. He identifies that feeling – stepping out on this magnificent architectural beauty – inside - where all the action happens.

“Have you ever been here before?” He asks her, as he dons his gloves.

“Yeah! My eleventh birthday.” She says, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I was there…” She points to the upper balcony of the Western Mining Company’s façade. “My dad drove me and our brother out the way. It was all I wanted for my birthday.” She says wistfully. “To watch you –“ Her breath hitches.

Mike’s smile is barely visible – he’s looking at her with his eyebrows slightly raised – gentle furrows on his brow.

She looks away. “Er – I mean to watch the _Padres_ …play the _Mets_.” She gathers herself and looks at him, trying to keep a straight face. “It was just after the park opened. 2004.” She garners a smile.

The day and place where she fell head over in heels in love with the twenty-four year old Mike Lawson. But she wasn’t ever going to admit that.

“You hit three out of the park home runs. One, landed in the first balcony…” She points to the building. “I kept thinking if only we could have afforded those seats…I might have caught the ball.”

When she glances at Mike, Ginny wonders if she’s offended him talking about his glory days.

He’s – just – standing there, looking at her pensively with his mouth open, rolling the wad of gum around in his mouth but not chewing. His helmet dangles off his hooked index finger.

His face changes when he slowly starts to chew again. There’s this awed look in his eyes – the wrinkles on his brow are flat. “Baker…” His voice sounds a little throaty to her, when he speaks.

His hazel eyes reflect the green off the grass and she wonders how that is even possible.

And then he straightens his face and shakes his head. That cocky, self-assured grin is back.  He clears his throat and barks out a laugh. “Well, that’s nice to know!” His voice is at a higher pitch. “At least, I didn’t ruin _all_ of your birthdays!” He adds.

She let out a nervous laugh of agreement.

“Ginny Baker!”

Ginny has never been more grateful for Blip’s interference.

“Get yo’ ol’ bubble butt over here!”

She smiles widely and walks past Mike, her shoulder brushing with his. As she’s swept up in Blip’s arms, she peeks over at Mike, hiding her nose in Blip’s shoulder.

Shit –! He’s looking at her like _that_ again.

 

 

If there was one good thing that came out of obsessing over Mike Lawson in her childhood it was that she zoomed in and replayed every frame of his movements so many times that they were stuck in her head. The memories were etched in so deep and she could pull them up like there was a little projector in her brain and she could watch them in the tiny secret corners of her mind, whenever she wanted.

Which she did. Several times. So many times, in fact, that she considered herself a Mike Lawson game-body-language expert.

Buck Garland and Luongo keep throwing her suspicious looks as she circles around the batter’s box in the training area making him repeat dry batting movements, over and over. When she’s ready for a proper ball, they keep pestering her to wear protective gear because they’re worried she’ll get hurt. She can overhear Blip trying to tell them that she’s no stranger to baseball. (She’s also sure, from the disapproving looks that Garland throws at her, that he probably thinks she’s a groupie.  Because - half the time her eyes are fixed on Mike’s gluteal movements.)

At least, Mike’s compliant. Laughing and joking, sure – but he’s cooperating.

The new pitcher, Walker, throws an impressive ninety miler that’s too high, and she’s right there standing in the umpire box with her arms folded and legs braced apart, watching his stance. He swings, the ball predictably sails well over the bat. In the few microseconds, in which she coolly steps out of the ball’s way, she’s so busy contemplating why he attempted that wide hit, that she misses the collective gasp of the men surrounding her. 

It’s only when she realizes that Mike’s not returning to his batting position and that he’s glaring at her with an apprehensive look that she looks up at the horrified faces of the other men.

“What?” She says.

Luongo and Garland exchange looks. Blip chuckles and claps for some reason. Walker looks sheepish and relieved.  The catcher, who’s his lifted his face mask, is staring up at her from his squatted position, like he’s trapped in some sort of religious trance.

“Geez Rookie!” Mike drawls, spitting out and shaking his head, he gears to bat again.

“Lady!” The catcher whistles. “You crazy! That ball almost took out yo’ face!”

Ginny frowns. She was well aware of the ball trajectory even though her eyes were glued to the way Mike was pivoting his hips. “No, it wouldn’t have. I saw it coming.” She says, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?”

“For a second I thought yo’ face was gonna get smashed like that scene from Robocop!” The catcher says, putting his face mask on and adjusting himself on his haunches.

She frowns at Mike. “Is that why you swung at a wild ball?”

Mike straightens up and make an irritated face at her. “You’re welcome. I was trying to save your perfectly pretty facial bone structure!”

She lets the ‘perfectly pretty’ adjective go.  “I’m not a little girl!” She says, annoyed. “Quit treating me like one.”

He looks back at her and spits again, directing his jaw away from her. “I’ve never had anyone stare at my ass as much as you, without some hanky panky involved.” He says, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

“Are you sure?” She returns. “I could have sworn I saw you preening for Arroyo that time when you played the Reds in ’13. Did he appreciated how sorry shaped your booty was?”

That hits a nerve. He glares at her. She smiles up sweetly at him.

Blip hoots, the catcher whistles and the pitcher stifles laughter.

“My booty’s _fine_.” He snarls.

 She agrees, but she’s not going to let him know that. “Mmm-hmm.” She sasses.

“Shut the fuck up.” He says. But, he’s smiling at her, mischievously.

“Alright, gentleman!” Luongo holler out. “And lady. We don’t have all day!”

Mike narrows his eyes at her as if to say ‘don’t tempt me, rookie’ and returns to his stance.

Ginny lifts her arm out to the pitcher as he winds up. She squats and observes Mike’s braced legs. She reaches a hand out to the back of his knee and feels it, through the fabric. She draws her palm up the inner side of his thigh, focussing on what her hand is telling her.

“You wanna give me a hernia exam, while you’re at it Baker?” He says. He sounds like he’s uncomfortable. 

She looks up at him.

“I’m getting self-conscious.” He jokes weakly.

“I didn’t think you ever got self-conscious.” She mumbles, releasing him. She walks back on her haunches, sitting on her heels, staying at at the same height as the catcher.

“If you wanna see my junk, all you have to do is ask.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Please! I got better things to do.” She mutters. “Half of San Diego’s seen your junk, anyway.”

“But not you.” He drawls.

She signals the pitcher to go ahead and stays down. She notices the way his hip pivots, she hears that clink of the ball with his bat, she hears that strained grunt before he hits the ball and watches as he launches into a run…

She rises to her full height watching him run. “Three…two….one.” She counts down out loud to herself.

Mike doubles over mid-way and falls to the ground.

She sighs.

She hates it when she’s right.

 

 

“Good athletes should know their bodies.” Pop had told her. He was making her watch a boxing match. Ali vs. Norton, 1973 – as a teaching lesson.

A right hook to Muhammad Ali’s jaw in the second round caused a serious injury. Ginny watched with baited breath (even though she already knew the outcome of the match) how Ali heroically managed to drag it to the very last round but – only to lose.

She would always remember Ali’s words when she looked up the fight later: _“I was concentrating so hard on trying to beat Norton I was not aware of the pain. He was better than I thought.”_

 

 

“Concentrating so hard….was not aware of the pain.” She repeats.

Luongo seems impressed with her encyclopaedic knowledge of the sports when she tells him the story.

“Ali was already fighting with a bad ankle.” Luongo nods, impressing her in turn with his knowledge. When he sees her amusement, he makes a face. “Unlike you - I was alive when that game happened, kid.” He says. “Give me some credit.”

She decides then that she likes Luongo – a lot.

She reaches for her phone and pulls up a video of one of Mike’s earlier games.

“Okay – see that.” She says, pointing to a zoomed and slowed up version of Mike batting.

“Yeah.”

“That’s him when all the ligaments, muscles, bones and everything in between is functioning properly.”

She swipes to the video on her phone that she had downloaded of Mike at that last game with the _Cubs_ , with the camera in a similar angle to the first video she showed him. It was just before Mike fell in pain at third.

“Do you see a difference in his batting posture?”

“Nope.”

“Exactly.” She says, triumphantly.

“Huh?”

“He’s older, with a lot of damage to his meniscal cartilages. They banked the menisci at the time of the surgery – but the problem is….the joint isn’t what it was. There’s low lubrication. The lines of force that’s exerted on his knees are altered – only slightly – if he was a regular guy it wouldn’t make a difference but he’s not.”

Luongo nods. She pulls her knee up and taps at the knee cap. “This thing right here -  you call it a knee cap, I call it the patella – it’s a slippery fucker – pardon my French – if you gave it a choice, it would saunter away somewhat in a trajectory like that…” She makes the motion of a curveball for Luongo’s benefit. “The balance of the joint is altered now – the way Mike plays – every time he turns on his bad knee, he’s weakening the muscles here…” She pats the inside of her thigh. “And the patella’s getting more traction for a jailbreak.”

“What are you saying?’

“Athlete’s play on muscle memory.” She says, gearing up to explain again.

\- but Luongo is way ahead of her.

“So the problem is not that he’s not playing the same, the problem is that he is.” Luongo says, leaning back and resting his wrists on his head. “He has to re-wire muscle memory.”

She gives him a smug smile and an impressed look. 

“Yeah…” He says. “I’m not as dumb as I look….I know.”

Luongo sits forward in his chair, looking at her in awe. “How is it that a rookie PT like you gets this and his doctors and the senior PTs don’t?” He says.

 _They haven’t obsessed about Mike Lawson’s ass and thighs as much as I have,_ she thinks.  “They haven’t played as much ball as I have.” She says, instead.

“Blip tells me you could’ve been the first woman in the majors.” He says, looking at her curiously. “I’d call him crazy, but Mike agrees. And Mike Lawson doesn’t throw compliments like that on just anybody. That guy’s a textbook narcissist and he’s not even ashamed of it.”

Ginny tries not to blush, when he says that.

“Yeah – I tried. It got too much.” She says. “College was easier.”

“Women in major league baseball.” Luongo sighs. “Never gonna happen in my lifetime, that’s for sure.”

She nods, trying not to think of her life choices.

“So now what?” He asks.

“Now, is the tough part.” She shrugs. “You may need to retrain him. Teach him to play in a way that keeps pressure of the medial thigh muscles.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to do that? He’s thirty-six for cryin’ out loud!”

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out, Mr. Luongo.” She smiles at him, rising. “I know this much – it’s not impossible.”

He looks worried. She feels twinge of sympathy for him. It’s a tough predicament for him. Breaking out of habitual physical movements could be harder than breaking out a vice. Luongo’s been around long enough to know it.

“Hey!’ She says, trying to channel whatever hope she feels. “I know this. Mike Lawson _loves_ this game – he’ll do anything to keep at it as long as he can. I know he’ll work hard.”

Luongo sighs out sadly and smiles at her.

 

“Hello?

_“Hi.”_

“Hey.”

_“I’m sorry couldn’t see you before you left. Thanks for comin’ by. I appreciate it.”_

“Yeah, no problem.”

_“We can compensate you for your time.”_

“Yeah – being inside Petco, kinda did that for me already.”

There’s a small laugh.

She sighs and leans back against her pillow.

_“What does a dreamstone look like?”_

“I dunno – it was from a poem I read. I don’t think there is such a thing as a dreamstone.”

 _“I had this dream.”_ He says.

“Uh…Should I be hearing this?”

 _“No, it was a G-rated dream.”_ He sounds a little perky. _“I was at the baseball field – the one near the place I grew up in. I was in 4 for 4 – the next one I hit was an inside the park home run.”_

“Sounds like a memory.”

“ _It was – only I wasn’t eight, anymore. I was – I mean I was me, as I am now.”_

“Go on.”

_“I was running past second, third and I was running for home – and I was just running and running and I don’t know why no matter how hard I ran I couldn’t reach the home plate.”_

He sighs.

“So what happened?” She asks, captivated by the story. “Did you make it?”

_“Yeah. When I did the home plate was broken – into a thousand pieces. And I dunno why, Baker – I tried to put the pieces back but whatever I did – it wouldn’t hold. It felt like – no matter what I did, I’d never make it home.”_

“C’mon, Old Man.”

_“Is it supposed to mean something?”_

“I don’t know, Old Man. I’m not a dream expert.”

 _“Tell me about the dress.”_ He says, abruptly.

“What dress?”

_“You said, once, that you chose some dress. That’s why you never went pro.”_

“Mike.”

_“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”_

She sighs.

_“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m surrounded by these kids – and they all look up to me. I’m supposed to guide them – but I feel like my body’s headed for a breakdown.”_

Ginny feels he’s reached into her chest and twisted her heart.

She patiently listens to the sound of him breathing.

_“You still there?” He asks._

“Yeah, I’m still here.” She answers.

_“Still won’t tell me about that dress?”_

“Nope.”

_“At least talk to me about that posters you had of me up on the wall. Did you wear the dress for that poster?”_

She starts laughing.  

 

 

 

She shouldn’t be surprised – she tells herself – when the _Padres_ General Manager shows up at her office. She's been avoiding the endless requests from Mike, Luongo and lower level Padres reps for a week now. She _ought_ to have had a premonition that somebody senior would step up.

Oscar Araguella is a very handsome man with a nice smile who kills it in that crisp blue suit.

Mr. Araguella gushes with a few nice words about how they appreciate her help with Lawson, both while he was admitted and recently.

“Do you think you can do fitness training for Mike Lawson?”

“No.” She answers, confidently. “I’m a therapist. Not a trainer.”

Araguella seems impressed with her candour.

“Sandler disagrees with your assessment.” He says.

“If that’s mean to be an affront…” Ginny says, frowning. “I don’t see how. Sandler is your man. You should listen to him.”

“He says I should retire Mike Lawson. Corporate feels I should trade him.”

He shouldn’t be discussing company secrets with an outsider, is all Ginny knows. Yet she feels like she must comment. “But he’s a _Padre_.” She says. “If he wanted to be traded you’d have lost him back in ’11 when your sorry-ass club management was bought over by that tech company.”

He sits back and looks at her fascinated. “Lawson and Luongo weren’t joking about you.” He says.

She pinches her lower lip. (When your one-time idol and your current not-patient on whom you have a stubborn-ass crush on apparently sings your praises to the GM of the _Padres_ , Ginny thinks it’s time to start celebrating.

So, why does she feel like stuffing her face with a cookie-dough ice cream?) 

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again.” He says. “Can you do fitness training for Mr. Lawson?”

“Nope.” Ginny smiles. “I told you Mr. Araguella, I’m not a trainer. I just try to fix what’s broken.”

“He will be your only patient. It’s a three-month contract – that’s all the time I can afford him. Otherwise he’ll be bumped down or his contract will be dissolved.”

“Still not happening.” She says – because as much as she wants to help. She can’t.

“Do you believe in fate, Miss Baker?”

She thinks of the dress suddenly. She shakes her head (even though she does believe in fate – she doesn’t owe Araguella any answers.)

“Somehow you figured out what professional scouts, professional sports team analysts and the appointed physical therapists for the Club haven’t been able to do.”

“If this is a debate on how good I am, Mr. Araguella -”

“Oscar.”

“Oscar.” She acknowledges. “If this is a debate on how good I am, then I’ll tell you upfront. I’m good. I’ve always been good. I’ve always been competitive and I try to excel at everything. I know what I’m good at and what I’m not. I also know that I am nobody’s trainer.”

“I know you’re good, Dr. Baker.” He says. “And do you know, how I know? Not because Lawson or Luongo told me about you, not because I’ve background checked you thrice, but because I before I rocked this suit, I used to be a team scout and I had friends who were scouts.”

“So?”

“So back in ’09, my friend Joe Amazzo told me about this amazing sixteen-year-old girl who played for NC state. With the boys. Said she had a screwball cannon for a pitching arm. He told me I should watch out for her. Told me she could change the face of baseball.”

Ginny flattens her tongue against her teeth. Her palms feel sweaty all of a sudden.

“I’ve seen you pitch.” He says. “I’ve seen videos of your games. You were a ballplayer.”

“It was another life.” She says, listlessly.

“Yes. And yet, here I am sitting with the same girl I hoped might have been a major league worthy one day – only she’s a ballplayer who doesn’t play ball anymore.”    

“You really think I had a shot?” She snorts indignantly. “Because I’m sorry, Oscar – I wish you were there when I ran out of gas. I’ve been told my whole life I wasn’t allowed to…”

“May I call you, Ginny?” He interjects.

“Sure.”

“Ginny – I’m not a fool. I know it would have been a hell of a  tempered glass ceiling for you to break. But – I was a ball player, too. Until I injured myself. I keep thinking, what if I hadn’t injured myself. Would I have made it to the Hall of fame or what if I had washed out? There are no guarantees.”

“What’s your point?”

“There’s no guarantee for Lawson – but if there’s a fighting chance, I’m willing the bet that only someone like you would be able to help. Only someone who knows what it is like – to make a choice to give up a dream, would understand how important this for Mike.” 

Ginny sighs and closes her eyes – feeling the sweat cool on her palms. The dress flashes, the mitt she chose flashes, her father’s face flashes…

… _that_ look in Mike’s eyes when she told him about her first trip to Petco flashes. _(“At least, I didn’t ruin_ all _of your birthdays”)._

“I have a job. I have patients.” She says, opening her eyes.

“Yes, about that.” He sighs and then shows her a paper. Ginny’s eyes pop.

“That is a _lot_ of money.” She voices out her thoughts. “I can even retire on that – if I dig a hole in a field and hide it away from the IRS.”

He sniggers at her joke at first and then speaks. “We’ll handle talks with the Medical Centre. I’m sure with what we offer them, they’ll be happy to loan you to us for the season. You’ll be flown in and out when they’re on away games, so you won’t have to ride around in the buses with the support staff. We’ll make you as comfortable as you need to be.”

Ginny sits back and pulls her feet up, folding them and resting her elbows on them, thinking it over.

(“ _I gave my life to this game_.” Mike’s sad voice echoes in her head.

 _“When that last homer flew out of the park –“_ He had said with closed eyes, that peaceful look on his face – the day she had gotten him out of bed, for the first time since the surgery. _“There was this feeling, right there in my heart – that there was no place in the world I’d rather be than right there on that field.”_  

The heartbreak she saw in his beautiful eyes. _“I don’t think I’m ever gonna have that again.”_

She thinks about that deep salmon pink dress. She thinks about the fading will in her father’s eyes when she made the choice. Mike’s dream haunts her.

 _“No matter what I did, I’d never make it home.”_ He had said.)

 

“I get to make the calls.” She says to Oscar, setting her jaw.

“You make the calls.” Oscar nods. “If you want him to sit it out, he will. If you want him to play, he will. Luongo’s willing to bet on you – so am I.”

“Mike Lawson better be clear on that.” She says, raising an eyebrow – thinking of the stubborn sass he used to give her.

“Well, I figured if he asked for you, he’s probably prepared to…”

“That man throws hissy fits like a prima donna.” She says, trying not to smile and looking stern. “I’m not gonna be the nag that’s yelling at him in front of his teammates, when he’s being difficult. If he doesn’t cooperate – I’m out. Make sure you tell him that from your end, as well.”

Oscar makes a face like he’s impressed with her audacity and her assessment of Lawson.

“How can you be so sure, he’s going to be difficult?”

“He’s _going_ to be difficult.” She says, smiling a little. “Wouldn’t be Mike Lawson if he wasn’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kisses to my reviewers with pleas for more because I love seeing how you take this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for you review guys. I'll reply personally soon.  
> i'm actually surprised as how much fun i'm having writing this - had to split this into two parts so more chapters for you! yay!
> 
> Humor me and believe that the baseball stuff might be real. I doubt it is but, hey whatever is fanfiction for.  
> Remember Mike is injured and Ginny isn't hounded by the opinions of the media so she's more confident.

“If this is gonna work, there’s gonna be some ground rules.”

Hazel eyes with blue-green tints twinkle back at her with amusement.

“Rule away, Rookie.”

(Oh god, why is he talking to her in that voice?)

“This isn’t going to be a cake walk.”

(He looks tickled. God! Now she feels like a child giving instructions to Michelin-star chef how to make a cake.)

“This is _not_ going to be easy.”

(She doesn’t sound as aggressive as she means to be).

Another nod.

(Why, why, why is he looking at her like that?)

“Hospital physio is _nothing_ compared to how hard I’m gonna be on you out here.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to reply with a wisecrack but she silences him with a stern glare. There’s a sheepish movement of his lips that’s hidden by all that fuzz on his face and then a nod.

“You are _not_ going to like it.”

“Oh.” He drawls. “I’m sure I’ll like _some_ parts of it.” 

(It’s said in a low voice – that makes her heart race.)

She swallows. “My methods, are unconventional.”

Interest fills those pretty eyes of his. “I hope so.”

She clears her throat (trying her level best not to laugh at how ridiculous this all is. Mike Lawson is supposed to be – at her mercy. And not even in a good way.)

“I’m a therapist. A professional.”

(She is speaking to him, but really, her intention is to remind herself because the way he’s looking at her - it makes her feel less professional by the minute)

He nods.

“I’ve put my other patients on hold. Including a very vocal ballerina with mommy-issues, okay? I’m not joking about how serious this is.”

She tips her chin down and looks up at him with wide eyes. (It’s a paltry attempt to imitate Evelyn's ‘mommy’s not messin’ with you here’ look. Ginny wonders why it works on her and the twins and doesn’t seem to work on Mike.)

He looks like he’s stuffing back laughter, but he clears his throat and nods, his face taking on a guise of seriousness.

“My focus is going to be entirely on you.” She says

“Good.”

(She thinks she’s going to have a stroke in that second – the way he’s looking at her.)

“I don’t like to share.” He says, in a gruff, spoony way.

She drops her voice. “No flirting.” She says. “Not even for fun.”

His head tilts, his eyes peer at hers, the corners of his mouth twitch.

(Is that disappointment or amusement she sees?)

“No inappropriate behaviour.” She reaffirms.

(He keeps looking at her like that. She squirms inwardly.)

“Think of me like…” She shakes her head, and flares her palms out. “…like I’m a teammate…or something.”

His eyebrows cross for a second and he sucks his mouth in, like he’s unsure about what how he’s supposed to react.

“Would it be inappropriate to say that you might be the second prettiest teammate I’ve had?” He says.

“It would – !” She nods, trying to ignore that desire to swoon she knows stems from her thirteen-year-old self. “Wait – !” She frowns. “Second prettiest?”

“Yeah, I was in this charity softball game with DiCaprio – beautiful eyes.” He gets a faraway look that she’s ninety percent sure is overdone.

She smirks.

“Anyway, glad you’re here.” He says, sighing out, sounding more determined. “When do we start?”

“We’ll do a fitness assessment first. 6 am tomorrow good?” When he nods, she nods back. “Nothing intensive.” She adds.

He nods as though the plan seems fair.

(She’s just about getting her head around that if she keeps her stupid crush in check, she _just_ might be able to pull this off with her emotions unscathed.

And then -)

He tips his head forward, gives her that infuriatingly attractive mischievous smile.

“Not even a little bit of flirting?” He says, sounding so deceptively childish.

“No!” She says, a little too loudly than she’d like, reigning in that smile that’s threatening to show.

“I mean – you did have me up on a wall.” He says, blinking at her, feigning innocence so perfectly that if she didn’t know him, she might have been carried away. “Why not let that poor little pining inner teenager inside you live a little?”

“Teenage Ginny isn’t here!” She hisses. “I am!”

He opens his mouth and rolls his tongue behind his teeth. She’s reading that facial cue now – he wants to say or do something that physically communicates how much fun he’s having at her expense but he doesn’t want to come out and say it.

She straightens her face and twists her mouth, narrowing her eyes at him. “And for the record. I never _pined_.”

He ducks forward snickering. “Oh- okay.”

“Har de haar haar.” She grumbles.

He straightens up, sobers that idiotic look on his face and nods at her, deliberately making a show of attempting to be serious.

“We’re friends…at best, okay, Old Man?” She says, puffing out her cheeks to calm her internal alarms the fuck down. “Nothing more.”

He nods - that devious expression fades from his eyes.  “I got the memo, Baker. Relax. I know your terms.” He says, patting her shoulder. “I’m in. All the way.”

“Let me go talk to Mr. Luongo. I have to figure out a schedule that works with yours.” She says, rolling her shoulders, feeling some semblance of control on the situation. She gives him a curt nod and turns to leave when he stops her.

“Hey Baker!”

“Yep?” she says, keeping her mouth pursed expectantly, turning around to face him and walking backwards.

He looks at her with those dreamy eyes and that exasperatingly sexy grin appears on his face again.

“I’ve never been friends with a woman, before.”

Ginny nearly trips over herself.

 

 

He’s a gentleman for the first ten days. So much, in fact, that she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Perhaps, she is so programmed to his infantile behaviour that she’s always expecting some amount of razzing around and heckling from him in some form. His super professional, respectful behavior vexes her.

Maybe it annoys her because it would have made it easier – on other fronts. It’s tough go into a therapist mode when she’s living out a dream.

(Access to the training sections, to the locker rooms, the Padres uber awesome gym – the fact that she gets to go out on that glorious field every now and then.) Ginny’s just this side of leaving a trail of drool in her wake, whenever she saunters about Petco because – _she can_.

(She also feels connected to her father on some deeper spiritual level. He would have loved all this.)

It doesn’t help that she’s outside of her comfort zone. She’s never coached anyone in fitness before. Neither is it her core specialty and not something she ever planned to pursue. She gets flustered the first day. She makes him run on the treadmill and then stops him abruptly. She puts him on an elliptical and then changes her mind. She makes him do all the core and lower body exercises and then changes abruptly to lower intensity cardio. She does passive physiotherapy manoeuvres and then stops that in the middle and by the end of the day she’s dead exhausted and completely clueless as to what she’s accomplished.

Day 2 and she hasn’t slept the whole night because she’s so disappointed in herself that she spent the whole night reading.

“You look tired, Rookie.” Is all he says while she watches over his weight training routine. It’s easier that day, because the regular fitness coach is there and it allows her to focus on his kinesthetic movements and she picks up some pointers.

Day 3 – she’s back to a state of confusion.  She’s not sure how much to push him and so she basically does a lot of running with him, fuming about what a fucked-up idea this was in the first place.

Day 4 – is easier because he has regular practice. She hangs out with the pitching and batting coaches. She befriends the other fitness staff and Blip’s also there as a distraction so she spends most of the day observing.

By the end of Day 4 she realizes that it’s also quite possible that she misses the banter.

But only so much.

The magnitude of what this opportunity presents for her future, hits her by the end of the week. The more she talks to her expanding new circle of trainer/therapist-friends, she realizes that if she succeeds, this is only going to open bigger doors for her.

That’s when she starts to get nervous. She starts to worry and before she knows it she’s all out in panic mode by day seven–

For the first time in her life, she’s got a point to prove.

Only she isn’t sure what it is.

Blake Sandler doesn’t demonstrate any overt hostility to her, though she notes from the guarded way in which he talks to her that he’s not happy about her being brought on. She keeps trying her best to get his inputs, but he seems as indifferent as he is condescending. She remains respectful, she tries to update him on things, but when she senses the skeptical and dismissive way in which he acknowledges her – she takes note of something else…

…there’s a general lack of estrogen balance among the PTs and trainers. Only two of his staff are women, and most of the time they’re scurrying around fetching coffee and towels. Major league baseball is a boy’s game – she reminds herself. On and off the field.

She gives Mike a rest-day on Day 7, and goes home to mope with a tub of ice-cream thinking that maybe on Day 8, Mike will wake up and realize what a little fraud she is and get her fired.

He doesn’t.

If he thinks any less of her (and he would be justified to do so) he makes no mention of it. He always thanks her or bids her goodbye and promptly shows up the next day.

On Day 9, after another confusing day of therapy ( or training or whatever it is she calls her pathetic excuse of a session)  – she silently enters the trainer’s locker room to change and overhears the conversation between Sandler’s number two guy (whose name she forgot) and one of the massage therapists.

“What do you think? You think she’ll get him ready in time?”

“Sandler thinks she’s full of shit. She’s just giving Lawson false hopes. He’s never gonna play the same. C’mon man! He’s old. You can’t fight biology.”

If someone sent a torpedo right into her diaphragm, Ginny reckons it wouldn’t have hurt as much as that did.

“I don’t know what he thinks she’s gonna accomplish!” Number two said (and she decides that she is forever going to remember him as such.) “Have you seen her? She’s like bambi out here. Competitive sports training is not even her speciality. I get it, she’s pretty but – c’mon. Pretty don’t work for baseball.”

“When d’you think Lawson’s gonna wake up?” The other guy said.

“Either the day he taps that ass and gets it out of his system or the day the front office retires his senile ass.”

 

 

And – that is how she ends up sulking her sorry face throughout the tenth day. She’s watching him do squats and lunges out on the field, a part of her focussed on his exercises, the rest of her brain off on a holiday to Self-Pity-Land.

(To add insult to injury, when Al asked her for an update on him that morning, all she had was a dismal face that she knows he misinterpreted as being hopeless about Lawson’s situation, because Oscar called her promptly afterwards asking her if there was hope at all.

She felt the weight of her responsibility, even more.

If she failed, Mike Lawson would fail. If Mike Lawson failed, she failed.

Talk about an endless circle of being fucked in the -)

“Rookie!” He barks, snapping her out of her pity-fest.

“What?” She snaps back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” She says, frowning at him.

“I asked you _thrice_ \- was I doing it wrong?” He hollers.

She realizes that he’s stretched out in this awkward posture which is midway between a lunge and a split. She shakes her head and nudges his legs so that the line of gravity is balanced out and nods at him, not bothering to fix that worried look she has on in place of make-up.

He repeats the motions and then jerks up to a standing position.

“Okay! Seriously! What is it?”

“Nothing. You’re doing fine.”

“Baker, you’ve been lookin’ at the set as though I’m sort of psycho who stole a bunch of puppies, stashed them way in my car trunk and pulls one out every day to kill, skin and eat for breakfast!” He shouts. “If I’m doing it wrong, you gotta tell me the right way to do it. Those silent stares aren’t gonna fix my knees, no matter how pretty your eyes are!”

The other players who are out on training turn around and look at them.

“Shut up and do the lunges!” She says, sharply.

“Y’know.” He scratches his beard. “You’ve been looking at me like that for the last two days! Do you think I’m never gonna get it right or something? Or are my knees too fucked up? Is that why you’ve got that hopeless look on your mug?”

He doesn’t look as uncertain as he looks angry. It’s like – the concept of him failing at something is at best aggravating but not disheartening. The indomitable Lawson spirit, someone had said about him once.

She sighs out loudly and rolls her neck, loosening up her muscles. “It’s not you, Lawson. It’s me. Get back to your exercises.”

He shrugs and ducks down to start the lunges again.

“Is everything alright?” He asks as he starts. She watches him huff out and wince every time he rises to the resting posture.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” She says, dolefully. “I’m sorry.”

(She’s actually apologizing to him because she feels like she’s failed him and because maybe Sandler’s and his shitfaced number two are right. Maybe she is full of shit – but she’s not going to admit that.)

“Okay – I’m going to speech you if you don’t stop looking at my ass like that. I give really great speeches you know – I could be in the movies.” He grumbles when he shifts to the other leg.

She knows. She thinks that part of the reason he doesn’t waste time joking around with her is that when they’re done with their training, he throws himself into supervising, strategizing, game-planning and motivating his team. He’s a remarkably intelligent man, she finds, and he’s as amazing as a captain as they write about him. Her hero-worship aside, it would have been a privilege to play under him – she thinks – had she ever made it far enough.

She snaps her fingers making a gesture for him to start burpees. She watches him do it and then sighs out loud again.

“Baker, all that haaing and hooing is driving me fuckin’ crazy!” He huffs out, sputtering the breathy words between the motions.

“Sandler thinks I’m full of shit.” She mutters, without thinking.

He stops. She watches him brace his waist and stick his tongue out, catching his breath.

“He thinks I’m leading you on and that I have no clue what I’m doing.” She blurts.

“So?” Mike says, in a high pitched voice, wheezing. He shrugs. “Fuck him.”

“What if he’s right?”

He looks at her, with incredulity (– and disappointment, maybe?)

“Sandler’s the best sports PT in the country.” She says, quickly. “I’m barely a year out of college and yes, I know I’m good at this but –“ She throws her hands up. “Everyone here looks at me like I don’t belong here!” She says, her self-annoyance targeting towards him. “I’m here for you, Mike – and if I don’t get this right…” She shakes her head. “Luongo, Oscar – they all expect me to fix you!” She stumbles on her words and looks at him exasperated. “You expect me to fix you!”

“You don’t know fuck about what I think, so don’t bother about my expectations, alright?” He barks. He looks angry – not like pissed off, just – it’s different type of angry. She’s only seen him giving those glares at the players.

He shakes his head and starts doing the burpees.

She burns a hole in the ground with her gaze, not really paying attention to him.

“Okay. Here’s what I got!” He jumps up, breathing furiously and catching his sides. He looks at her –  and for an instant Ginny forgets everything.

She’s seen many a varied expression on Mike’s face. She’s seen anger, exhaustion, amusement – she’s seen a lot of cockiness and she’s even seen heartbreak. But that determined, dead serious, fierce look in his eyes – with irises green, reflecting the emerald grass – the shallow furrows on his brow – the steady, focussed tone with which he speaks.

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of people telling who you’re doing this for. And I wonder if it’s not about time you start doing this for yourself. Just you! Screw what Sandler thinks! Screw what anyone else thinks! ‘Cause you’re not some PT’s minion, Rookie! At heart – you’re a ballplayer! You know what this is! You know how hard this life is!”

(Ginny feels like he’s reaching into some deep corners of her life with that focussed gaze.)

“You do this for _you_.” He says (and – she feels like he’s curling a hand over something inexplicable, shaking it lose).

“You do this for _you_ ,” He says, again. “Or you don’t do it at all. ‘Cause you can’t aim your pitches if you’re aiming to please anyone.”

(She forgets why she’s here, she forgets what she is. For an instant, she feels like she’s a pitcher, staring at _her_ captain, she’s staring at _her_ coach…she’s staring at her father.)

And with that -  the competitive, ambitious little Ginny Baker-Beast inside her stirs to life. 

His face scrunches up. An unfunny grimace appears. “Aim your pitches! Aim to please!” He mocks himself in a high-pitched voice. “Damn I’m good!” He says, nodding at himself. That self-assured grin appears on his face when he looks at her with a sense of wonder (that undoubtedly is him being mighty pleased with himself). “I really could be in the movies.” He says and steps back to the starting posture. “Gotta go, ‘cause you know – people are gonna start talking.”

She watches him practice the burpees for a few minutes. She hears the grunt he lets out when he flexes his knees and the little moan that come when he extends his back.

 “Hey!” He calls out to her, in between, as he bends to do the push up. He makes a gesture. “Mic drop!”

She smiles back at him, quietly. Pensively.

 _Biology_ , Sandler’s number two (and he was a piece of shit, wasn’t he?) had said. _He’s old._

 _“A girl…will never be able to throw hard enough to compete with boys..”_ Pop had said. _“It’s biology and you can’t change that.”_

“Stop.” She commands. Mike looks up at her, a little surprised.

 “You’re right.” She says, as calm and as strongly as she could. “I _am_ a ball player.”

He gives her a happy smile that warms her heart.

_(“That’s why we need a secret weapon.” Her dad had said, and handed her a nectarine.)_

 “C’mon!” She says, tipping her head to the pitcher’s mound with the Baker-beast wide awake and itching to go to work. “Let’s go play ball.”

 

 

First assistant pitching coach Ted Bowman and his two lackeys were the only suckers who were free at that time of the afternoon with the sweltering sun beating down on them. Ginny’s bonded with him somewhat – even then - she doubts if the reason he so willingly hands her the glove and offers to take the catcher’s positon is more out of friendship as opposed to curiosity. When she hands him her phone and explains the specifics of the video she needs and he sends out his assistants to fetch the higher definition camcorders, she’s certain he’s doing this out of curiosity.

She steps up on the mound and looks around at the empty seats of the colosseum that is Petco park. She dusts her hands with the powder and looks at the glorious green expanse and then towards the home plate.  

(What she wouldn’t give to see Pop squatting behind that home plate, chewing gum, slapping his thigh every time she dawdled, flapping the catcher’s mitt open and close.)

 

The rules were simple. She would buy as many shots or drinks as many out of the park home runs as Mike would get off her pitches. There was to be no running around the diamond.

The Baker-beast inside her was chomping at the bit in complete confidence. There was no crowd, no jeering or cheering, no lewd commentary to distract her. No fielders jumping in and around her field of vision. No base runners that she may need to snag. There was no audience, save, Bowman as catcher and the two wimpy assistants (who as it turns out were good at videography and understood exactly what specifics she needed – one standing right behind him filming Lawson’s butt and the other one midway between the home plate and the mound, filming his swings).

Just her and Mike.

_I’m your secret weapon, Mike Lawson. Only you don’t know it yet._

“I’m outta practice!” She yells at Mike as he readies himself. “Go easy for the first couple.”

He may have said something, but she can’t tell. She knows the catcher is laughing, so she presumes it’s one of Mike’s wisecracks.

The first few balls were wild pitches. It was different up here in a proper field as opposed to the local parks or batting cages she hung out in. By the time she got to the sixth or seventh ball her muscles kicked in. Her nerve endings are polarized and her body isready.

The tenth ball she throws is a passable eighty mph fastball that surprises the catcher – it falls out of the mitt.

She sees that proud grin on Mike’s face all the way from where she stand.s (Like he was waiting for her Baker-beast to kick in and  - behold! Here it was.)

“I’m warning you!” She yells out. “I’m not gonna go easy on you!”

He says something inaudible but from the look on his face, she could tell he was daring her.

Apparently, there are uses to spending so much time ogling at your favorite player’s game moves. She knows his weaknesses. She preferentially sticks to the off-speed pitches, throwing some fastballs in there to confuse him (though she was less proud of them) but -  mainly she needs him to use his head to calculate her moves.

She knew, it was going to be tough for him -  she was a master at hiding her game.

He hits many that stay within the park. He can’t get the bat to power even _one_ out.

She becomes increasingly pleased when the growling and cussing starts - the occasional spit in between.

“What’s the matter, Old Man?” She hollers. “Can’t take the heat?”

“Eat shit! Baker!” She gets as a reply.

“You first, Old Man!” She hits him with a slider that he smacks his bat into. It’s a foul hit but – almost, almost makes it out – but rebounds off the wall of the outfield.

“Not bad!” She says, loudly, peering at it, shielding her eyes from the sun.

It’s her screwball that final does him in.  The catcher snaps his mitt close and Mike stomps his foot in frustration.

“Looks like your ass is mine, Lawson!” She sings.

She catches a glance of her two impromptu videographers and they’re just gaping at her, with the cameras fixed in the direction of Mike. The assistant coach rises, taking his face mask off, staring at her dumbly.

(Ginny’s not a proud person, but she’d be lying if she said seeing that shell-shocked look on people’s faces every time, doesn't give her ego just that much of a boost.)

She shrugs at him, sheepishly. Bowman sticks a thumb up at her and it’s all good - until Mike (who was staring at her, evidently fuming) suddenly flings his helmet and bat to the ground.

She’s laughing as the bat recoils off and patters on the dirt….

…until she’s not.

He storms towards her – and – by all that is holy - he looks like he’s going to kill her. (Given the size of those monstrosities he has for hands, it doesn’t take Ginny much to be convinced that he _actually_ might.)

She starts walking backwards, apprehensively, backing down from the mound on the other side.

“Okay! Mike…?” She says, trying to change her voice to calming tones, putting her arms up defensively.

He stops just as he’s at the base of the mound. “Get your ass back on the mound, Rookie!” He barks.

She doesn’t. She just gapes up at a man she has rarely seen losing his temper on a field - even on the worst possible day.

“One of these days - !” He roars at her – glaring at her furiously.

“What?” She bites back, grinding her jaw and sticking her chin out at him. (She’s no stranger to brawls. If he wants to fight, she’ll fight him back. She’s sure as fuck not a wimp.)

His hair is damp with sweat and his pale skin is singed with sunburn. His eyes are filled with verifiable murderous rage and then he snorts out -suddenly. His face changes dramatically. His eyes are filled with admiration and he’s grinning at her stupidly. 

“Shit!” He says, grinning and shaking his head, wiping his damp brow.

“One of these days what?” She says, traversing the mound, all the way, to stand before him. She’s at the same height as him, because she’s still on the slope.

“What?” She shouts, when he still doesn't reply,  sounding a little whiny to herself.

He looks at her mouth, still smiling wide – long enough for the cogwheels in her brains to start clicking. Then – his eyes shift to hers, narrowing suggestively, still smiling. Then he abruptly turns around and marches off – muttering something.

_Something._

Noises in her peripheral hearing alert her. She turns in their direction and finds some of Mike’s teammates standing there, stunned – some even clapping. Garland and Luongo are there too, both men looking at her like she’s grown two heads.

She looks back at Mike’s retreating figure.

(Ginny isn’t a hundred percent certain, but because there was absolute silence on the field when he was in her face and after he’d just turned around -  she’s maybe forty percent certain she heard it.)

She heard him mutter _something_. It sounded like - “One of these days I’m gonna kiss you, that’s what.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....there is more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I am so sorry it took me so long on this one. I needed some time but i'm getting back to it. Thanks for being so patient and so supportive.

As determined, ambitious and focussed the inner Baker-beast is, apparently her body did not get the memo on its resurrection.

Ginny awakens earlier than usual the next day, with a newfound sense of inspiration, a boatload of mental energy and her body in a whole world of pain.

Her arm is still throbbing something fierce when she meanders into Petco that morning. Apparently Tylenol was not a solution for a pitching shoulder that feels like someone stuffed hot lead into it. Her entire being hurts in places she forgot existed. She had to forego a proper breakfast because she could barely lift her lift her arm to fetch the cereal.

Ginny barely manages a smile and a grunt for those who greet her. Evers and Hunter thump her good shoulder with congratulations for the previous day, they also throw her looks of sympathetic understanding when they note her spasmed posture. She barely has energy to snort at Blip’s ribbing, let alone scowl playfully at Javanez’s flirtatious offers to ‘help’ ice her shoulder.

The Padres are slowly filtering in to the clubhouse, getting ready for an away game. Seeing as Mike hasn’t come in yet, Ginny heads straight for Al Luongo’s office.

“What’s up, kid?” Luongo says, greeting her with a fatherly smile that somehow distracts her from the pain. “And – when I say kid – I mean like – young person, not like Bogart in Casablanca.”

“Huh?”

“Ah! I’ve been called out on sexism.”

“Sexism? You?” She echoes in disbelief.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. He eyes the way she rubs her shoulder with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah – my pitching shoulder's sore but that’s normal.” Ginny reassures him. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

“I gotta tell ya, I haven’t seen a girl pitch that beautifully since my oldest was in the little leagues."

Ginny sniggers in reply.

“So, what’s up, Baker?” He asks.

Ginny presents her case for what she has planned out for Mike. He listens to her every word attentively and nods contemplatively after she’s done.

“I need these few days to work out a strategy I have in mind….I need to back it up with a bit of research as well. I know it’s asking a lot…maybe it will risk the team’s chances at winning.” She ends.

“If it gives Mike more time and saves his career,” Al shrugs with a small smile. “Then, it’s in the interest of the team, Baker. It’s not asking much at all.”

Ginny nods.

“Thanks Skip.” She says, before rising up to leave.

“Baker.”

“Sir.”

“I like it when you call me ‘Skip.’” He smiles at her affectionately. “Just so you know.”

Ginny grins wide.

“Y’know. I wish you’d been born a boy so you could play ball professionally.” He comments. “I could use your type of dedication on this team.”

Ginny doesn’t tell him that she never wished she was born a boy. Of all the regrets she has in her life – that is not one of them. “Wouldn’t it be easier to wish that women were allowed in the major leagues?” She asks, instead.

He snorts like she’s made a joke. “If they allowed women in the majors, Baker – I’d probably lose my job because of half the shit I say.”

Ginny laughs with him, doesn’t think any less of him for what he says.

 

 

She finds Mike, later, fully prepared for the scowl on his face, knowing she is the reason for it.

“Something up, Lawson?” She grins wide.

Mike frowns all the more, and it is a to-be-honest, super cute frown that makes him look like a frumpy cross-eyed hairy cat.

Lawson glares at her. “You look like shit.” He mutters.

Ginny sure feels like it.  She sighs and massages her shoulder. “Look, big picture – the _Padres_ need you for the long haul.” Ginny declares.

“Oh, woah! Wait…there’s a reason for all this sunshine?” Blip says, gesturing to Mike’s grumpy face. “We just thought he was going through male menopause.”

Ginny gurgles with laughter.

“Stop laughing, Rookie!” Mike snaps.

“Ohkay!” She grimaces. “Cranky today, I get that.”

Blip blinks. “You had him scratched?”

“Just for the next few games.” Ginny says.

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to play because a certain PT decides my fate.” Mike barks. His brow furrows with worry, when he gazes at the way she clutches her shoulder. “Seriously, Rookie! Why are you still here? It’s not like you have to ogle at my seated ass.”

“Endure, endure, endure.” She echoes her father’s words.

“This is what happens when you hand your fate into the hands of rookie, bossy, goody-two-shoes…” Mike grumbles, throwing his arms up. “She gets you benched, gives you one-word life advice.”

“Look, just don’t freak out out there, ‘kay?” Ginny says.  “I know it’s tough but you gotta keep cool. I know you wanna play – but we’re not there yet.”

“What makes you think I won’t keep cool?” He gives her a confused frown that splays his forehead furrows in a super attractive manner.

“Because, you’re playing the _Cardinals_ and it went down so well the last time.” She states plainly and stares him down.

He grimaces at her sarcastically. Ginny holds back the smirk she wants to give in response, keeps the sternest no-nonsense face she can muster until he nods at her, his eyebrows shirking with interest. 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, think you’re so evolved?” He taunts. “I’ll bet if you were on this team you’d be hounding me to let you bean Falcone.”

“Huh! I’ll bet you wish I was born a boy just so you could _let_ me.” Ginny rolls her eyes.

“Who'd wish you were born a boy?”

“Skip does.” She says. “Apparently, he could use my sort of dedication on the team. But. I’m thankful I dodged _that_ bullet. _Your_ speeches are far too long.” She sighs, making a wide-eyed expression mocking him.

Mike’s eyes sweep Ginny’s entire length. It’s not obtrusive or creepy, doesn’t even make her comfortable – but it does make her want to preen under his gaze.

She clears her throat. “I’ll see you when you’re back.”

“Are you gonna miss me?” He asks, a small coy smile playing at his mouth.

“No.” Ginny mums her lips, forcing back her smile.

“Not even a little bit?” He tilts his head – in that cute way he does, his hazel eyes twinkling with intrigue.

“Maybe I’ll miss the beard.” She says, trying to sound casual.

“Hey Baker.” He says, in that low sexy drawl with an unmistakable look of interest in his pretty eyes. “I’m real happy you weren’t born a boy.”

A smile spreads across her face. Ginny rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him.

Blip clears his throat very obviously. Ginny finds him giving her a peculiar expression. “Hey! Gin!” He says, sounding a little pitchy. “I gotta – give you something, from Ev – can you come with me…?” He doesn’t wait for her response, just grabs her good elbow and drags her off to coffee room.

“What are you doing?” Blips hisses, her sounding concerned.

“What?”

“Be careful.” He says in a low voice. “Ginny – he’s not over Rachel.”

Ginny blinks at Blip.

“Look – I don’t want you to get hurt. I mean, he’s a great guy. The best person I know. But, when it comes to women –“

“What are you talking about?” Ginny says, pretending to be clueless.

Blip sighs. “He may very well be on a rebound, Gin.” Blip pleads. “It might not be the best idea to fall for him.” Blip gives her a meaningful glance and walks off, leaving Ginny confused and annoyed.

Blip’s mistaken, Ginny tells herself. She’s not falling for Mike Lawson. It’s probably just attraction. That’s perfectly natural, right? She’s a healthy, single, consenting unattached woman who doesn’t have time to tend to her social needs.

Maybe she should do something about that. She’s totally not falling for Lawson. No sir. No way.

 

 

“I’ve come to two conclusions.” She tells Evelyn, helping herself to another glass of wine as they watch the game. “One, if I gotta Mike Lawson into a serious fitness zone – I have to get there myself. I've got to get on proper diet and exercise plan.”

“So do I.” Evelyn comments. “What’s the other conclusion?”

“I really need to start dating.” She mutters to Evelyn,

“So do I.” Evelyn agrees.

“Maybe I need to start with some meaningless sex, y’know just to get in there?”

Evelyn huffs. “So do I.” She says.

“You’re married!” Ginny scolds.

“Oh. Right.” Evelyn blinks. “I gotta get me some Blip. We haven’t really been-”

“T -M - I! Ev.” Ginny groans.

Evelyn thankfully shuts up.

Ginny sighs when the camera pans to Mike who looks clearly restless on the bench. “Ugh! He’s going to hate me. They’re getting slammed today.”

“It’s for his own good.”

“What if they don’t make it into post-season, mmm?” Ginny says. “You think he’s going to see it that way?”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Well.” Ginny ditches the glass and grabs the bottle. “Pop trained me mindful that I started out with a disadvantage. Biology workin’ against me, an' all. So I’m gonna do the same. Pop used to keep some diaries – y’know – like a record of our training. I have ‘em. What he observed, what weaknesses – what disadvantages and advantages I had inherently. It’s actually quite exhaustive. I never realized how meticulous he was. So I’m gonna take some pointers from that and Mike Lawson’s gonna be like a whole new player.”

Evelyn doesn’t reply. When Ginny looks at her the other woman is blinking at her, giving her a quizzical expression. “I meant.” Evelyn hiccups. “What’s your plan – on the dating front?”

“Oh.” Ginny blinks rapidly.

“Oh honey.” Evelyn groans. “You spend far too much time obsessing about man you’re not even sleeping with.”

 _Tell me about it,_ Ginny thinks to herself.

“Do you want me to set you up? Y’know the _Cardinals_ are in town next week. You know what that means…” Evelyn twitches her eyebrows. She points to the screen. Ginny rolls her eyes when Trevor Davis comes up at bat.

“Evie!” She whines. “You know my code. I don’t date…”

“Yeah, I’m not buying it.” Evelyn pipes up. “Catchers are your type.”

“Shut up.” Ginny says and then she giggles, thinking of Mike.

“Well – maybe one catcher.” Evelyn remarks with a sly smile, as though she’s sensed Ginny’s line of thought.

“He’s not over Rachel.” Ginny blurts. When Evelyn gives her the gimlet-eye, Ginny shrugs. “‘S what Blip says. Not me.”

“Yeah.” Evie sighs. “I saw the split coming. She’s was like nice – but you know – _not_ nice.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Evelyn starts sniggering. “She was so - _above_ the Real Housewives of the MLB. So condescending. Like – I tried to socialize with her, I did. But she’s so - ” She makes a whiny sound. “Eeyah! Can’t blame her for that. Us WAGs can be a handful. But still -” Evie screws her mouth and mocks a funny voice. “ _Ooh look, I’m like the number one sports reporter on ESPN, I got my own show, I actually have a real job. I don’t have time for kids. I’m so hot and pretty and all the networks are after me, but my husband doesn’t have time to fall at my feet and worship how awesome I am-_ like! C’mon!” Evelyn interjects.

Ginny bursts into a fit of giggles and throws popcorn at Evelyn. “Stop!” Ginny titters.

“Pak’s wife is at medical school! Lopez’s girlfriend has a successful candle business! Look, a baseballer’s wife or girlfriend is not easy. This life is as hard as it gets.” Evelyn drags herself lazily to reach for the second bottle of wine. “And if Pak’s wife were ditchin’ him, or Lopez’s girlfriend took off – it would be understandable. But Rachel is a sports journalist. She had to have known what she was getting into.”

“He really loved her – I know that.” Ginny says, thinking of the heartbroken man she saw in the hospital.

“Maybe he still does.” Evelyn says. “At least that’s what Blip says. But I dunno – it’s good riddance, ‘s what I say.”

Ginny doesn’t say anything. Her thoughts drift to her mother. _Baseball killed my marriage, took my daughter away from me._ Her mother had lamented when Ginny confronted her relationship with Kevin.

The camera pans to the guest dugout and Mike is pacing up and down like a caged beast. There’s something feral and primal in the way he looks. She feels really hot and sweaty all of a sudden.

“Yeah, you should start dating.” Evelyn says, randomly, eyeing her face.

“Yes.” Ginny agrees and drinks a large gulp of wine which burns all the way down her foodpipe.

“It’s a pity – though.”

“Why?”

“He may very well be falling for you.”

Ginny almost spits out the next sip of wine. She’s gawping at Evelyn. “What?”

“I mean, c’mon!” Evelyn rolls her eyes. “He – he’s always staring at you like you – like you hung to moon or something. His face does a nice thing when you’re around.”

“Shut up!” Ginny giggles, feeling light headed. “He does not!”

“And the way he laughs when you two are together! Gin! C’mon. He’s like a completely different person around you – he’s like – he’s like _better_ than his old self.”

“You’re just imagining stuff. He just flirts – it’s his way.”

“Blip is right though.” Evelyn says, looking at her with a knowing smile. “You shouldn’t fall for him.”

“I’m not falling for him!” Ginny protests. At the look Evelyn throws her, she whines. “And he’s really not into me Evie – I’m probably a distraction, ‘s all. I’m not even his type!”

“And what is his type?”

“I dunno – young, some variant of blonde, stupid.” Ginny mumbles, picking on her shirt sleeve.

“Sure, Gin.” Evelyn patronizes her and then takes a sip. “So um,” Evelyn gets a wicked gleam in her eyes. “So I guess you won’t be interested in a juicy bit of intel then.”

“Huh?”

“Rumor is,” Evelyn remarks in a sly voice. “He’s stopped sleeping around.”

Ginny doesn’t say anything and she tries her level best not to overthink it.

He’s smart, funny – and yes she’s always in awe of him on some level. And yes – she does spend a great deal of her time thinking about him, and yes – she likes to replay their interactions mentally and laugh at them, and yes – he’s sweet and makes her feels special, and yes - he’s possibly her favourite person – but he’s Mike Lawson. All-star, MVP, ballplayer, lousy facial hair-groomer, grumpy teddy bear, her hero, her patient –

_Uh oh._

She’s totally falling for him.

 

* * *

 

 

Evelyn Sanders is full of shit, Ginny decides.

If he really liked her he’d stop being such a baby and appreciate what she’s doing for him. He wouldn’t be looking at her with that cross expression all time. Ginny ignores the pointed frowny faces he gives her as she monitors his exercises. He makes a lot of loud sighs and angry grunts whenever she makes him switch.

Strangely, that does not explain why his crabby mood evokes that wave of fondness in her.

“Okay! I give in,” she concedes. “What’s with the grumpy face?”

“We lost. Like royally – took it in the ass and then some – lost!” He mutters petulantly. “And if that isn’t bad enough, now we’re losing the home games as well. Probably because I’m sitting on the DL like a schmuck.”

“You don’t have to listen to me.” Ginny points out.

“I signed a contract that says I do.” He says, raising his eyebrows with evident sarcasm.

“I’m sorry, old man.” She sighs.

“No, you’re not.” He says, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You’re right, I’m not.”

“I need a break.”

Ginny would say he earned one. She pats his shoulder and directs him into a seated yoga posture that’s supposed to strengthen the knees while giving him a timeout.

“What’s that?” He points to the small diary sticking out of her pocket.

“Oh!” Ginny hands it to him. “My dad’s notes. He was my coach – in many ways – back when the dream was alive.”

He takes it from her and flips through the pages. “Wow, these are…” He trails, looks at her with amazement.

“Meticulous.” Ginny nods.

“Didn’t he ever take up coaching?”

Ginny purses her mouth.

“’M Sorry, Rookie." He says, gently. "Sore subject? I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No!” Ginny sighs. “No – it’s not that. He – I guess he put in all the energy into me.”

Mike gives her that intense look. “I’m sorry, your dream didn’t happen for you.” He says. “If you ever did make it to the majors, I’d be a heck of a fan.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, right from the get go. I’d be your number one supporter. From day one.”

“Uh huh.”

“You don’t believe me? I’m all for women empowerment and equal rights and equal opportunities.” He points to himself. “I’m a feminist.”

Ginny throws her head back and cackles out a sarcastic laugh. “Right.” She says at the end of it. “You're just saying that to get out doing yoga aren’t you.”

“Hell no.”

“Mmhm.”

He gives her a sheepish smile that makes her heart to a whoop-de-whoop. “Maybe a little.” He admits.

“Okay wiseass.” She chuckles. He switches to the other pose she shows him when she gives him a signal.

“How’s your shoulder?” He asks.

“I’ll live.” She shrugs. “You wanna squat for me?”

He grunts as he gets on his feet and then sinks to his catching position. Ginny pats his shoulder and watching his face. “How do your knees feel?” She asks, noticing a big difference in the way he squats.

“I’ll live.” He retorts.

Ginny gives him a ‘don’t mess with me look’. A sad smile spreads across his face. “What do you want me to say, Baker?” He sighs. “It hurts”.

“It’s more than that.” She says, contemplating his posture. “Mike, look it’s barely been two weeks but I’m seeing a lot of improvement.”

“Does that mean I can play tomorrow?” He asks, cheery.

If it weren’t for that creepy-ass beard Ginny could have sworn she was looking into the eyes of an eager twelve year old. She’s seized with the urge to pat his head.

“Something on your mind, Rookie?”

“Meet me after the game, tonight?” She motions at him. He promptly shifts, leveraging his weight on the other side.

“You askin’ me out?” He wiggles his brow.

“I told you I don’t date ballplayers.” Ginny says, holding back a smile.

“But I have groupies to entertain.” He makes a pouty face that she finds irrationally attractive.

“Pretend I’m a groupie.”

“Thanks but…” He says, with a straight expression. “I don’t date groupies.”

Ginny sniggers at him. “Okay. That’s good Mike. We’re done for now.

“So what are we doing?” He asks when she helps him get up. He grunts and then stands up, doing the stretches she taught him earlier to relieve the spasms.

“I gotta take you in to the Centre.” She says. “I’m gonna do a special study to checkout the amplitude of your gluteal fasciculations – maybe there’s a way to get around the pain without straining the quads.”

“Gluteal fasciculation? That’s a fancy way to say you wanna check out my ass again” He drawls. “Really, all you gotta do is ask, and I’ll drop my pants.”

“I’m not …” Ginny chokes on her words. “It’s not the same!”

“Oh okay!” He knocks her arm without any force. “So you gonna let me buy you dinner, later?”

When Ginny gives him a look he puts his arms up and promises: “As friends.”

Ginny laughs. “Okay.”

“It’s a date!” He grins.

“No, it’s not.” Ginny shoves him playfully.

“I should warn you though - I don’t put out on a first date.” He mocks a coy face and makes gestures of tucking hair behind his ear and flapping his stupidly long lashes at her.

“Shut up!” Ginny giggles and punches his arm with her pitching fist – which isn’t the wisest idea in retrospect. He’s got such burly biceps that the force recoils back and has her grabbing her still-tender shoulder.

“Ow!” She grumbles.

“That oughta teach ya!” He breaks into a booming laugh and pokes her side. “Here let me help you.”

She pushes him away when he reaches for her shoulder, he pushes her back and before long, they’re engaged in a playful scuffle, with her laughing idiotically as well.

“Oooh! That horsey laugh! That whoo hoo hoo!” He bellows. “I gotta tell you – I missed that!”

“Horsey – what – what is that?” Ginny swats his shoulder.

His laughter subsides when he looks at a point beyond her. A dark expression crosses his face and then his eyes are filled with a vacant, far-away look.

“Mike?” A familiar, sweet voice comes from behind her.

Ginny turns around and her smile drops.

Rachel Patrick is standing at the door.

She gives Ginny a scrutinizing glance and then her eyes drift back to Mike. “Er…” She says, nodding at Ginny. “Hi?” She says.

Ginny looks back at Mike and then coughs. “I should um – I have stuff to do– I’ll go.”

Mike keeps staring at Rachel like he’s trapped in a fugue. He doesn’t even acknowledge Ginny when she leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

_The divorce isn't final. He's still married to her._ _It’s barely been a couple of months since they separated. He loved her. He still loves her._

Ginny repeats the words to herself over and over as she lingers near the back entrance of the clubhouse after the game.

“Ginny?”

_Oh crap._

“Trevor!” Ginny bares her teeth. “Hey!”

“H-hi!” He says, his face brightening with surprise. “How are you?”

“Um – I’m good.” Ginny says.

He looks down at her lanyard and then frowns. “You’re working for the _Padres_?”

“It’s a temporary contract.” She says.

“Really?” He shakes his head at her. “Hey! I uh – are you free later?”

“No.” Ginny says, looking back nervously in the direction of the _Padres_ clubhouse door.

“Over the weekend?”

“No.”

“C’mon Gin. It’s just one drink.” He says, sweetly.

“Yeah, no.” She says and then something occurs to her. “Is it about the pictures?”

“No update.” He says, giving her a sheepish smile. “I have a guy working on it.”

“Okay.” She fidgets. Ginny glances in the direction of the clubhouse and then crosses her arms, walking towards Trevor, moving to a corner for privacy.

“I mean, I’m not in those pictures –“ Trevor speaks as he follows her. “So, it’s unlikely they’ll ever see the light of day.”

“Good for you.” Ginny mutters.

“So, you still gonna say no to a drink?” He purses his mouth, tilting his head.

Ginny looks at a face of a guy she loved with all the pieces of her heart, only to have them all crushed.

“I’m glad you made it up here Trevor.” Ginny says. “You worked hard.”

He looks down at his feet. “Gin – two more seasons and I’m up for a revision on my contract. I’m thinking of pulling out.”

“What?” Ginny frowns. “Trevor, you’ve only played three seasons. You won a Cy award. Don’t tell me you’re not cut out for this life.”

“I still haven’t given up my dream of getting my degree.” He says in a soft voice. “I’ve made a fair deal of money. CalPol’s still willing to give me a free ride. I’m thinking of investing my earnings in a business, get my degree on the side.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I won’t be a ballplayer for long.” He says. “And seeing as how you don’t date ballplayers….” He concludes with a lopsided smirk and a shrug.

Her teeth clench involuntarily. “We’ve been here before, Trevor. I’m doing this dance again.”

“One thing I see with this game, is there are no guarantees.” He sighs. He nods at a point beyond her. Ginny turns around and…

_Fuck._

Mike’s exiting the clubhouse – and Rachel’s with him. Ginny feels her heart dropping somewhere deep in her belly. Mike doesn’t even look in her direction. He’s entirely focussed on his estranged wife and it looks like they’re deep in conversation.

“I mean look at Lawson.” Trevor says, dragging her attention back to him.

“What about him?” Ginny asks, confused as to why Trevor would bring him up.

“Gin, I don’t wanna end up like him. Watching my career spiral away, waiting at the end of it in the dugout. At least he’s a legend. _I’m_ never gonna be one of the greats. I don’t wanna be one of those guys who bust a hip or a knee chasing after a ball – Gin. That’s no life.”

Ginny takes his words personally. She feels a whole wave of irritation at his comments on Mike. She peeks towards where Mike is and finds him alone, scrubbing his face, looking in the direction Rachel Patrick seems to have taken off in. He looks way too stressed and exhausted for a guy who didn’t play. 

“C’mon Gin. I just wanna talk okay?” Trevor says. Ginny finds him looking at her pleadingly.

Ginny sighs and then rubs her eyebrows.

“Think about it?” He says. “I’m in town till tomorrow – but you know that.”

“Yeah.” She says, moving away. “I don’t think so.”

“Gin – come on.” He reaches for her hand. “You – you have to know how I feel about you. You’re the one that got away for me, okay? And I know you still feel something for me.”

“Baker?”

_Fucketty fuck._

Ginny spins around to find Mike standing there looking at her and Davis warily. From the cranky frown he’s giving – Ginny’s certain he heard Trevor’s last statement.

“Hey!” Ginny gives him an over exuberant smirk.

“Davis.” Mike’s voice drops to a bland, emotionless tone. “Good game.”

Trevor looks between Mike and her and then drops her hand. Ginny feels her breathing ease. She struggles to control her emotions.

“Are we good to go?” She creaks out, not meeting Mike’s eyes.

“Yeah.” Mike says, but he’s still staring at Trevor.

“I’ll see you later?” Trevor says, looking at her with an unvoiced query about Mike.

Ginny doesn’t reply. Trevor must take that as a yes, because he nods at her, bids Mike a goodbye and then takes off.

Ginny coughs, clearing her throat, clearing her head.  “C’mon.” She croaks, motioning for him to follow her – which Ginny realizes is stupid because he’s driving them.

“Everythin’ alright?” Mike asks.

Ginny turns on her heels and then gestures at him to lead the way.

“Yeah everything’s just – fine.” She says.

“Why were you talking to Davis?” He asks. His voice is tense and Ginny tells herself she owes him no explanations.

“Oh –“ Ginny doesn’t meet his eyes. “Um – old friends. We – uh – used to play each other, way back when I was…in the minors.”

“Seems like there’s some bad blood.”

“No – just a healthy rivalry.” Ginny says.

“You’re choosing your words carefully.”

Ginny pulls her glance up and looks at him feeling an annoyance and irritation she can’t explain. She shouldn’t take his prodding the wrong way. His curiosity isn’t unjustified – maybe his line of questioning is.

There’s an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes are dancing over her face, like he’s trying to gauge her.

“Are we – are you comfortable about doing this test today?” She says quickly. “We don’t have to.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He frowns.

“Seems like you may wanna –“ Ginny gestures about. “Well – I mean – seems like you…” She steels her face and looks at him pointedly. “You and your wife?”

“She’s going to be my ex soon.” He says, his expression softening.

“Yeah, but she isn’t yet.” Ginny blurts and then regrets it.

His eyebrows cross and his eyes go all squinty. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Ginny blows a raspberry and rubs her forehead. “Can we go?”

“Were you and Davis a thing…?” He starts. “I don’t mean to pry but...”

“Nah-ah!” She holds her hand up. “We’re not doing that, you and I. It’s none of your business. You’re my patient, Mike.”

His shoulders drop. “Look, Baker, Rachel and I…”

“None of my business.” She says, a little too loud and a little too pitchy.

“You’re right.” He says in a clipped voice. Ginny notes tick in his jaw and the forceful way in which he opens the exit door to the players’ designated parking lot. “It’s none of your business. Are we going or what?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to hear what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I am SO sorry it took me forever to churn this out.  
> I have to tell you all your reviews helped me get out a of a writer's block.  
> I mist Pitch! it's affectin' me now!

_The divorce isn’t final._

He’s completely distracted. Almost catatonic.

_He’s still married to her._

“You okay, GinGin?” Cute Mug asks her as they watch Mike walk quietly on the treadmill. “Yeah, Dr. M.” Ginny says, looking at the read out. “What do you think?”

“I think that maybe your hunch is right.” He says, pointing to the graphs. Then Mugh starts talking about some trial from Sweden about stem cell therapy for degenerative arthritis.

_It’s barely been a couple of months since they separated. He loved her. He still loves her._

She pretends to pay attention, even nods seriously – doesn’t hear a word. Completely oblivious to the emotional fucknado inside her, Dr. Mugh excuses himself to go fetch a printout of the article on the research while still blabbering about it.

“We’re good, Lawson.” She calls out once the test is done. Mike gets off the machine, standing apathetically as the technicians detach all the wires from him.

“So, my ass workin’ alright?” Mike asks her acerbically.

“Your ass if workin’ fine.” Ginny chirps, making an effort to balance out that darkness that shrouds him with some enthusiasm.

He musters a small emotionless smile that somehow feels painful to her.

“Are you open to restructuring your diet?” She asks him, uncertainly. "Maybe we need to relieve some body weight off the knees, without compromising on muscle strength. You may not like it."

“Yeah, I'm cool with it.” He shrugs.

“And um…” She says. “I’ll need to bring you in here, once a week – for the same test for the next four or five weeks. I guess – we can skip the weeks when you’re away”

“Well, you’re the boss.” He drones. “Whatever you say.”

She nods. “You - ready to go?”

“Listen Baker.” He says, with long sigh. “D’you mind if I take a raincheck on dinner? I know I offered it’s just…”

_The divorce isn’t final._

“Yeah absolutely.” Ginny smiles.

_He’s still in love with his wife._

“It’s just…” He gives her that vacant, defeated expression that tugs at her heartstrings. “I have some shit I need to sort through.

“Yeah.”

_Besides, you can’t get involved with a patient._

“Let me drop you?” He asks.

“No, I can catch a ride with Dr. M.”

His expressionless changes to a scowl. “Baker, c’mon.”

“No, I –” She puts a hand out. “I think it’s better that you go ahead.”

“Hey! GinGin -!” Mugh comes by. “Here it is…”

Mike makes a mocking noise.

“What?” Ginny snaps.

“Did you –” Cute Mug stops in his tracks, frowns at her and Mike. “Is everything you okay?”

Mike just looks at her like she’s pissed in everyone’s drink or something.

“Yeah,” She sighs apologetically at Dr. Mugh. “I-  I’m- I’m good, sorry – something on my mind.”

Mike lifts his eyebrow throwing her a caustic look.

“We’re done for tonight, Lawson.” Ginny bites out. “I’ll catch a ride with Dr. M.”

“Whatever you say, GinGin.” He mutters. He gives Dr. Mugh a terse smile and then leaves.

 

* * *

 

The only thing getting in the way of Mike’s rehab, Ginny deduces as she thinks it over, that sleepless night, is her stupid stubborn crush.

_The divorce isn’t final. He’s still married to her. He loves her._

_Time to nut up._

So, she ‘nuts up’. Steels her resolve, shuts down her emotions and decides it’s time to grow up.

She shows up at the Clubhouse gym early in the morning– intending to get ahead on her plan of getting fitter herself to keep up with Mike's training requirements. She texted Mike the previous night to join her, half-expecting him not to show – but to her surprise he very much does.

He looks like he hasn’t slept either. He doesn’t smile at first but he doesn’t seem antagonistic, either. In fact, his grumpiness changes to an 'oh shit' expression, when he watches her do the V-sit ups. He starts copying her exercises as she urges him – and sure enough as she anticipated he starts competing. He’s red as a tomato, huffing and puffing like a big-bad wolf by the time they’re done with the high intensity phase. There's a semblance of a victorious smile before he collapses on the floor wheezing with lactate cramps.

Ginny can't resist laughing. 

She thinks just after the day is done – that maybe, _just maybe_ , things can stay impersonal and professional between them.

It works – like a bandaid on a bullet hole.

The bandaid part is fun enough.

He gets a little more social and friendly when they work out. The activity and the exertion are probably distracting enough.  He gets grumpier during yoga and the less physically demanding sessions. In fact as the week goes by, he gets crabbier.

Ginny hopes it’s just because he’s in gatorade withdrawal (she replaced it with the herbal infusion she’d advised that he despises). There’s also the fact that Livan Duarte has been called up and is the hottest topic of discussion on the airwaves and in the clubhouse alike.

Mike withholds displaying infantilism towards Livan Duarte in front of anyone who isn’t a teammate (– that means her), but Ginny has a fair idea of his facial features to recognize his frustration.

The younger, hot blooded Cuban doesn’t make things easier. Duarte’s a bit of a shit even though there’s no doubt he’s a stellar player. But, boldness and attitude only take a person so far and Livan’s crossed that point - he’s part of a proper team. His blatant disrespect for Mike’s position and his experience fuels a lot of tension. He handles the younger catcher with the same attitude of an alpha dog, with patience and authority, keeping his attitude in check. She admires his professionalism. If Pop had been in his place, he’s have blown his lid off at Duarte’s smarminess.  

(On top of which, he flirted with her on his very first day - didn't stop after and does it deliberately in front of a seething Mike. Ginny always shuts him down with an eyeroll and a shake of the head but it’s obvious that Mike doesn't appreciate Livan's wiles. )

Add to which, the Padres are just muddling along that week. They’re scrambling like a bunch of disorganized puppies, losing more than winning. Mike determinedly sits in the dugout, pacing and trying to motivate them but – Ginny can understand how helpless he feels when he's not out there calling the shots.

On the upside, when she takes him in for the tests at the Centre at the end of the week – there’s a marginal improvement she spots in the myographs.

She uses her failsafe puppyeyed pleading smile on Cute Mug to convince him to push Mike in for a last-minute ultrasound on a busy night just after the test. Mike’s face hardens and his expressionless mouth curves downwards into a frown that she pretends not to notice. He doesn’t talk much while she chatters away with Cute Mug while they scan his knee, but she sees irritation grow on his face from the corner of her eye. 

She disregards it.

The graph and scan results give her a sense of relief and victory because it means her training plan is working. She doesn’t want to divulge it to anyone, especially Mike because he won’t understand the physiology or the technical stuff. Also, because he’s so annoyed she doesn’t want to provoke him. 

She sits him and Al down the next day and makes a difficult request.

“If he goes for the away games, that’s time I lose.” She shrugs. “I’d like him to stay back in San Diego so we can train.”

Al seems reluctant. Mike – to her surprise agrees.

Those next ten days pass by quickly. It's gruelling and gratifying at the same time because she focuses on field training.  The park is, for the major amount of time available. The clubbies or the trainers who aren’t part of the away team are also available to help. And, it’s an established fact that Mike is happiest when he's playing out on the field.

He does take to those sessions beautifully. At the heart of it, Ginny’s essentially teaching him to play baseball again, on a higher, more cerebral, more mechanically focused level. He's a man driven by instinct who's brain follows suit and it's worked amazingly for his career. For the sake of his knees, she has to teach him the opposite. She uses the pointers from her father’s notes. Crams up on all the literature that might help her restructure the way he sits and runs. She even spends some time teaching him the philosophy of hip and knee joint dynamics in order to explain what she wants to achieve.

He’s polite and receptive for the most part. There’s no flirting, no banter, no joking or laughing. There’s something that’s missing when compared to his earlier enthusiasm. An awkwardness to him that Ginny cannot pinpoint. He’s more pensive and brooding, retreating into some shell of reticence. She doesn’t know what it is.

When she asks him whether he notices any difference in his body– he shrugs like he doesn’t care.

She takes him in for the follow-up test, finds a dramatic change that should show up in his performance and his mood but –

“How is the pain?” Cute Mug asks him, more than once while he clinically examines his knee.

Mike looks at Cute Mug as though the doctor just asked him to get castrated.

“No different from when you asked me five minutes ago,” Mike retorts angrily.

 

Thereafter, the proverbial bullethole starts spurting blood.

Unfortunately, the Padres return from the away games having made a debacle against the Mariners and the Nationals. Mike’s behavior gets edgier. He moves on from giving her the stink eye to biting her head off.

Ginny feels like the past few weeks were a dream – she feels like she’s dealing with the Mike she saw months ago, just after his surgery.

Except – it’s worse.

Back then it was just mostly taunts, resistance, and misdirected anger. The snipeyness now is a whole new level, it’s full blown passive aggression.

There’s many things to explain it that she gets: he’s anxious when he doesn’t play, his career is the subject of televised discussions with a lot of bullshit being thrown around, players being shuffled around in trades - some of whom were his friends, Duarte’s impudence doesn’t improve. (There’s also the personal problems of his that are not discussed. What’s going on with Rachel, what’s going on with the divorce. Things she wants to know but cannot ask).

She takes consolation in that fact that he’s still calm and friendly with his teammates. In fact, he bombards them with speech after speech – constantly reinforcing them with consolatory words and tips. She pulls him to spend time with each player under the pretext trying to explain muscle mechanics. She covertly encourages the pitchers to discuss heat maps and hitters even during their physiotherapy sessions. She ropes Al to include him in the coaching and strategy discussions.

It helps with his temper, inadvertently, helps the team too, because at least they’re performing better since Mike’s taking active interest in the individual performance, along with overall team play.

What Ginny doesn’t get - is why she feels like she’s the intended target of a seething rage.

He shows up for sessions – but it’s filled with biting statements, backhanded insults and sometimes he just yells at her so loud – the entire clubhouse knows.

Of course, Ginny is a hardass when she wants to be – so, it isn’t like she takes it lying down.

Not having other patients to distract herself poses a problem. Tolerating his behaviour is draining. She doesn’t allow herself to take it too seriously. She keeps herself distracted with something or the other.

And all things said and done, Mike follows all her instructions – to the T.

Which is why she tolerates it all – she thinks of it, as taking one for the team. Her imaginary team of 'Baker and Lawson', that's working towards an ultimate goal.

She still doesn't have a clear sight on what the ultimate goal is, though.

 

* * *

 

Ginny’s phone rings one day while she and Kiki are working on Mike’s knee and back respectively. A screechy roar sounds so loud when she answers the phone with one hand, that she drops his knee. It’s so loud that Kiki winces. It’s so loud that Mike lifts his head up.

“Risa?” Ginny speaks into the phone after it’s done.

 _“How could you do this to me? Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you seven weeks! How could you just take off and abandon me like that? How could you just leave me in the care of that freak? That pervy assistant keeps dropping me!”_ Ginny’s forced to pull the phone away from her ear while Risa keeps screaming like a harpy, her voice sounding in the room while both men just look on amused.

 _“…do you have any idea how important this is?”_ Risa stops screeching and breaks off hyperventilating.

Ginny sighs and puts the phone back to her ear. “Honey – I’m on a…”

She jerks her head away from the phone and waits for another flurry of screeching and yowling to finish.

“I’ll buy you lunch if you let me in on that.” Kiki whispers.

Mike doesn’t say anything but she can tell he’s interested from the approving lift of his eyebrows and an amused twinkle in his eyes. It’s the first sign of a smile directed her way - in days.

“She’s my patient.” Ginny hisses. “I can’t violate her…” Ginny frowns suddenly and puts the phone to her ear. “How’d you get this number?”

 _“I threatened to sue Dr. Cute Mug for sexual harassment if he didn’t give it to me!”_ Risa shrieks.

Ginny rolls her eyes and puts her on speaker.

“So, you blackmailed him?”

_“Like – duh. And can you believe it? He was stupid enough to believe me! Tsk! Men!"_

“Okay!” Ginny barks, picking Mike’s leg again. Kiki snickers and shakes his head. “Watch it! Dr. Mugh’s the guy who got your diagnosis right. In time!” She huffs. “What did Bailey do now?”

 _“He’s not you!”_ Comes her shriek.

Ginny rolls her eyes.

“She has a point.” Mike mutters.

“You’re on speaker, okay, Risa?” Ginny announces, widening her eyes to silently scold Mike. “I’m busy. Watch what you say.”

 _“Whatever. Where are you?”_ She speaks in a normal voice.

“I’m on a special assignment.”

_“You can’t have any special assignments. I am your priority. I am the specialest assignment you will ever have.”_

“Not any more.” Ginny says, patting the side of Mike’s thigh. He turns to his side facing her so she can do swipe swings. “Thank god.” She adds, glancing at him. He looks amused.

And then the sound of sobs and snivels start.

“Congratulations, Baker. You made her cry.” Mike mumbles.

Ginny sighs. “What’s wrong, Risa?”

“It hu-urts!” Risa whines and then launches into another series of complaints. This time adding insults about the girl taking her place in _Swan Lake_ , her mother, her ballet instructor along with some colourful statements about Bailey.

Ginny prods a tender spot on Mike’s knee without thinking, he jerks wincing. She reaches her hand out to his palm comfortingly – and his hand closes around hers. She pats his thigh, apologetically. His fingers weave with hers, his thumb rubs along her fingers and his pinky rubs her wrist.

Their eyes meet.

He’s got that intent, affectionate look. Something she hasn’t seen in weeks.

Kiki is oblivious. He’s looking at the phone quizzically. “Lisfranc fracture – she’s a ballerina.” Ginny whispers to Kiki as she pulls her hand out of Mike’s palm obtrusively.

She can’t resist smiling at him though. He gives her a boyish grin that makes her heart do that thing again.

Ginny rubs her face and checks her watch. “Okay, Risa. I’m coming into the centre at about six. If you’re ready to come by, I’ll take a look.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I think she’s overcompensating - putting strain on the ligaments.” Ginny says, pointing to Risa’s MRI on the iPad. “The muscles along the medial arch are all inflamed. I can feel it. That's what's causing the pain.”

“I don’t think it’s broken, either.”  Cute Mug agrees.

“Well, her recital’s in about three weeks.” Ginny sighs. “I think she should rest it for a week, but she says that they’ll replace her. It’s your call.”

“She’s a real firebrand, huh?” Cute Mug says.

“Yep.” Ginny rubs her eyebrows. “Look she’s really competitive, and passionate - about ballet. After losing _Swan Lake_ , I don’t think she’ll take it well.”

“She’ll take it if _you_ tell her.” He points out.

“C’mon Dr. M.” Ginny whines. “I don’t wanna tell her.”

Cute Mug sighs. He nods in the direction of Mike who’s just getting off the machine. “I don’t know why he isn’t able to appreciate the difference GinGin, but his muscle power is improving by leaps and bounds!”

“I’ll get him into a game after a week.” Ginny says. “Let's see how it goes.”

“So um…” Cute Mug coughs. “Are you two -like - a thing?”

“What? Me and Mike!” She gasps. “No!” She whispers. “We’re not! Why would you even suggest that? He’s my patient!”

“Yeah but – he likes you.”

“Okay.” Ginny puts her hand up. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Look – I’m only askin’ ‘cause…”

“Because?”

Cute Mug gives her his cutest smile. “Dacey was sayin’ something.”

“Which was?”

“That you were talking about getting back on the horse. With dating and everyting.”

Ginny rubs her temple. “I was just….” Ginny groans. “Yeah, so? What’s wrong with that?”

“Look – I’ve been holding back, because I thought that you and Lawson had something going on but…” He shrugs. “If – it's not the case, I’d love to – take you out for dinner.”

“Dr. M.” Ginny sighs and whines. “C’mon.”

“What’s the deal GinGin, you know I like you! And – since you’re not working at the Centre for the next couple of months – technically we’re not even coworkers.”

Ginny shakes her head. “I er...” She grimaces.

“Ooh…” He clicks his tongue. “You’re gonna friendzone me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Ginny shrugs an eyebrow.

“Okay – how about you just go on one date with me. Okay? I mean better me than some weirdo you meet online, right?”

Ginny giggles.

“How about – I’ll talk to Risa – and we do one date?” He flashes his most charming smile.

“C’mon GinGin!” He elbows her shoulder.

Ginny’s about to say a ‘maybe’ because he does have a point.

“Yeah, c’mon GinGin!” Mike’s sarcastic voice intrudes. “It isn’t polite to keep the guy hangin’!”

The look on his face is terrifyingly cold. Ginny feels something unpleasant stirring in her gut.  He’s smirking – but it’s not really a smirk.

She straightens up and steps away from Dr. M.

“Are we ready to leave?” She says, clearing her throat.

“I don’t know.” He grimaces. “Are you?”

“You’re making progress Mike.” Cute Mug speaks placatingly, looking between them awkwardly.

“Yeah, whatever.” Mike mutters, waving his hand.

“Guess I’ll see you next week?” Mugh says, looking apologetically at her.

“I…” Mike announces. “won’t be coming back next week.”

“Oh?” Dr. Mugh looks confused.

Ginny frowns at Mike.

Mike's stony eyes meet hers. “I’m done with these monkey tests.” He bites out.

Ginny watches stunned as he marches off.

 

 

“What the hell?” She catches up with him the parking lot.

“You comin’ or you got another ride?” He turns his head towards her but not fully.

“Mike!”

“What?” He growls, unlocking his car.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m not going to waste _my_ time just so you can have an excuse to make your weekly trip to flirt with your wannabe boyfriend!” He roars, turning around to face her.

Ginny steps back.

He's glaring at her, so angry, but -  she sees pain in his eyes as well.

“You’re my patient.” She says, stepping forward. “I know that the fact that I used to admire you when I was a teenager makes you think that I am just another groupie like all the other girls who get all blushy and swoon because you turned around and looked at them –

“I have never -!” He catches her arm and pulls her to him. “ _Never_ thought of you like that!”

“Then stop acting like you own me.” She growls, putting a hand on his chest. “You don’t.”

Shock overtakes his face. He shakes his head and steps back, starts scratching his beard.

“Now, these tests are for me to assess…” Ginny starts in a calm tone.

“Why’d you quit it?” Mike asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Why’d you quit baseball?” He asks.

“I told you – I decided on college.”

“Yeah but why.” He says. “You’re good –! I have no doubt in my mind that you would have made it just on that screwgie alone. You gave up, right? Why?”

Ginny’s mouth parts and she blinks.

“I’m not obliged to tell you that.” She sets her jaw.

“Then I’m not obliged to be your guinea pig.” He replies instantly. “My knees are fucked up. I accept that. They’re getting better – since training with you. I accept that as well. But – they’ll never be as good as they once were Baker. And I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing while my team struggles. So – yeah I am done with these tests .”

Ginny stays rooted in her spot as he opens the door.

“D’you need a ride?” He asks.

“No.” She answers.

“Fine by me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I told you – you can’t play until I…”

“I…!” He roars so loud, Ginny’s certain the whole Clubhouse heard it. “I am the Captain of the team, I decide whether I play or not!”

“Hey! I thought we were clear on this.” She catches his burly arm. “I decide when you play!”

“And, I just decided otherwise.” He shakes off her hand. “My words should mean something around here, dammit!”

“You promised you’d listen to me!” She screams.

“Yeah, well – it seems like everyone and their uncle seems to know what’s right for me and what isn’t and no one’s concerned about what I want!” He bellows. “I want to get out there! I want to win!”

“Lawson!” She grinds her teeth and hisses. “You don’t want to train? Fine! You want to prance around the ballpark thinking you’re twenty-five? Fine! It doesn’t change the fact that I still have the…”

“You’re fired.” He churns out in a steely voice.

“What?” Ginny blinks.

“I said, you’re fired.”

She snorts. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” He snorts and stalks off.

She looks at Al.

He shakes his head with frustration.

Ginny takes in a deep breath and exhales. She’s dealt with this before. She’s dealt with this – with _him_ – before. She wants to put it down as a temporary outburst. She wants to ignore the stab of disappointment that hits her in the chest and makes her want to scream and cry at the same time. She wants to back off and let him have his space.

But, she let go of a dream once – and …

_She let go of a dream, once. And Pop gave up on her._

She follows him out into the lounge of the Clubhouse, corners him just before he makes it to the tunnel. “Get outta my face, Baker.” He barks, walking around her, tucking his bat under his arm.

She takes a deep breath and circles around him – definitively disobeying him, getting in his face.

“Did you just disrespect me in front of my teammates?” He bellows.

Not just his teammates. Ginny is aware that the clubbies and PTs who’ve heard her outburst are slowly drifting to watch their exchange. There are some reporters in the clubhouse as well who were interviewing the players (well, Livan) before the game.

“You can’t fire me.” She states, coolly. “I am contracted to the _Padres_ \- not you.”

“Well, that can easily be taken care of…” He shrugs, giving her that maddeningly sarcastic smile.

“Actually, no. They’ll keep me around.” She interrupts him. “Miller wants me to help in his rehab.” Ginny says, softly. “Evers wants me to fine tune his pitch mechanics. Walker would actually like to pay me for my advice. I’m sure the Padres wouldn’t mind keeping me on if they put in a word. Javanes even wants me as a work-out partner.”

“Well, fuck-de da for you!” He drawls, mocking her, flipping his bat around and resting it on his shoulders.

“I for one.” She announces, stepping forward and going up on her toes to meet him squarely in the eyes, “think it’s pointless to waste time mollycoddling your ego because you can’t see the big picture.”

He leans forward to the point where his nose is a hair’s breadth away from hers. The vehemence in his eyes darkens his irises to the point where they turn grey. It scares her – if she’s being honest, and Ginny does not scare easily.

“Then what…” Mike bites out in a low, menacing voice. “…are you still doing here?”

In her peripheral vision, she can see Blip step forward looking worried. For her.

“Swallowing my pride.” She returns, sticking her chin out. “Getting in your face.”

“I’m sorry?” He grimaces.

“You see my face, Lawson?” She whispers. “Can you see beyond the fact that I’m a girl?”

He pulls back, frowning.

“Put feminism aside for a sec.” She steps forward, drops her voice by notches so only he can hear. “You know what it means when you have boobs, a womb and a vagina to go with?”

He blinks.

“You become an example of everything that represents weakness. Throw like a girl, run like a girl, fight like a girl, cry like a girl – ever heard those?”

He stays silent.

“It doesn’t matter that you work hard, it doesn’t matter if you can play smart, it doesn’t matter if you have the experience to compensate for a body that's marginally less than an average player, it doesn’t matter if you…” She sobs, “ _Love_ the game…and everything it represents. It doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head. “No one’s ever gonna see you beyond your one weakness.”

He’s provably seething, but doesn’t say anything.

“Look at me, long and hard.” She orders softly.

“I’m weak because of my age – and my knees?” He spits, his eyes darkening again. “Is that what you’re sayin’?” He leans his head forehead again.

“No, that’s what _you_ are thinking!” She pokes her forefinger into his chest. “You don’t see beyond those things either. That there is the problem.”

He looks aghast.

“What your aging body is for you, is what being a girl is - _was_ \- for me.” She speaks but only, loud enough for him to hear. “It’s why I never made it past the low-A’s. It’s not because I was physically inadequate. I was twice as good as any male pitcher who threw off-speed. The sexism, the condescension, the passive aggression, the snide remarks, the threats?  That’s what got to me! That’s what wore me down! That’s what I failed to endure! Not because I was a girl – but it was ‘cause how being a girl was _perceived_ – and all it took was one moment of weakness where I perceived the same thing about myself. Just that one moment. That’s where it broke. That’s where I gave up.”

His eyes widen. She falls back on her heels because balancing herself on her toes is starting to straining her calves.

“If you were past the age of forty-five – you and I would be having a different conversation. Medically put, if the extent of degeneration went past the articular surfaces, forced premature ankylosis and your joints had fused permanently and you were at the point where you couldn't take a leak without a knee replacement, I wouldn’t even be here.” She pauses to breathe. “But we’re not there.” She moistens her mouth and emphatically adds: “Yet.”

His face changes, the forehead furrows relax.

“One day, you will _have_ to retire.” She says, speaking louder for the benefit of everyone in the clubhouse. Thankfully Al and Buck shooed the reporters away and only the players and staff remain. “One day, you won’t be able to squat the same. One day your bat won’t have the same firepower.” She grimaces fiercely. “But. That is _not_ today, _not_ tomorrow, _not_ next month and hopefully not till after next season.”

Ginny wipes the tiny beads of sweat on her hairline.

“I know what this is about…” She taps the bat propped across the back of his neck. “You wanna go play. Because being out there on that field is the only thing that makes sense. It’s only thing that makes you – you. But that’s just you, clinging to what’s familiar because it’s easy. You’ll hold on to it as long as you can, till your bones shatter or your ligaments snap – and you’re left with nothing but bitterness, a brace for your knee and a broken heart.”

The whites of his eyes flush red. His hand relaxes, the bat drops to his side.

“That’s selfish.” She says, gently. “Because your team needs you.” She points to the group of Padres that have collected behind Mike, all rapt with attention.

She shrugs, sadly. “Yes, they need you today –” She sighs and shakes her head, helplessly. “But, I can’t guarantee today. I can’t even guarantee a tomorrow, or a next week. And – I hope the lack of guarantees doesn’t cross beyond a month. The point is, they don’t just need your glove, or your bat – they need you.” She jabs his head. “This mind.” She jabs at his chest. “This heart.” She slaps her entire palm on his sternum. “All of it.”

The stubborn set of his jaw changes, his beard drops a little and he lets out a long, frustrated sigh that makes her want to hug him.  Ginny sees his free hand lift to touch the palm she has connected with his chest but he retracts it, just as she pulls it away.

“Thing is.” She says, clearing her throat. “Age, injuries, biology –? They’re obstacles. Sometimes obstacles are insurmountable. But - they’re not absolutes. You know how you handle insurmountable obstacles that you can’t climb over? You dig and crawl your way around it.” She nods firmly.

Ginny sees a minified, inverted version of herself reflected in his corneas. For some reason she sees a teenager, holding a pretty dress for her first school dance, glove put aside.

“It requires time.” She says, hollowly. “It requires patience – it requires belief. It requires throwing a hundred nectarines without getting a single indent on the skin to perfect a screwball.”

She looks at Mike but doesn’t see him anymore.  She sees Pop’s disappointed face.

_I’m offerin’ her a choice, Janet._

She sighs, smiling at Mike sadly, shaking her head, her eyes feeling stingy and wet, repeating the same words that echo in her head in Pop’s voice. “I will take you as far as I can.” She promises. “I will take you – all the way with this, but you gotta give it _everything_ you got.”

His chin slowly drops to his chest and his eyes don’t aren’t connected with hers any more.

“So here is how this will work.” She grinds out in an even toned, firm voice. “Right now, I am going to _pretend_   that you're being impulsive. I’m going to _pretend_ that you’re having a moment. I’m going to _pretend_ that you're just being a big baby, throwin' a tantrum.”

When his head rises, he has that adorably irresistible smile in his eyes that doesn’t reach his face. It makes her heart flutter in her chest despite how tense the air is between them.

A smile threatens to crack her sternness, her voice softens. “I’m going to _pretend_ that you haven’t forgotten the long haul here. I’m going to _pretend_ that you do care about overworking your cartilages before they’re ready. I’m going to _pretend_ – you didn’t threaten to fire me, because you’re secretly giving up.”

He stares at her for a long time, his eyes revealing nothing while she blinks unshed tears away.

“I’m going the pretend –” She says. “That this little hissy fit is done. You are going to go out there – sit the game out on your acceptably fine ass and cheer your team. We’ve got a lot of work to do - you and I,” She says. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to be keep doing it.”

His gaze sweeps over her. Ginny straightens her spine and stares back.

“Fine by me.” He speaks, softly, slapping the bat into her open hand.

Ginny nods and steps out of his way.

“Acceptably fine?” He reels, with that gruff voice.

“Go!”

“Okay!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to end the chapter on an angsty note but i figured i owed you guys a hopeful ch end after the long wait.  
> To those of you who've waited - I thank you. I am going to finish this -hopefully soon enough.  
> BE SURE TO tell me what you thought of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I added another chapter. This one got too long.  
> Let's just presume all the baseball stuff is believable. and if it is not PLEASE tell me what would be an appropriate thing to write and I shall change it immediately.

In the week that follows, the _Padres_ win all home games. Their newfound zeal wows fans and critics alike, and it’s perceptible in their individual and team performance.

Ginny believes they are stepping up for their Captain, working towards setting a positive milieu for when he returns to active play. Blip tells her later that it’s her ‘pep talk’ for Mike that did the trick for the team, though Ginny argues that she doesn’t deserve any credit.

In a reversal of circumstances, Luongo calls her to the office this time, and tells her that he wants Mike staying back in San Diego while the team goes off on the next set of away games.

Al made some thoughtless comments to the press about the Front Office’s trade choices. They were misconstrued and the media had blown it out of proportion. Buck was appointed as an interim manager for the week and was accompanying on an interleague road trip, while Al stayed back to do damage control.

“If they fire me, things will change.” Al confesses. “The Front Office is questioning why Mike’s still on the DL when Sandler argues it’s psychological pain.  Oscar fought to get you on board for his rehab, Baker, but patience isn’t exactly the forte of those who make the financial decisions upstairs.”

“They won’t fire you.” She reassures.

“I wish I had your optimism, kid. But getting fired is not my concern. Legally, the Padres can terminate your contract prematurely if they fire Oscar _or_ me.” He says.  “Sandler was called up for the same meeting…” Al looks disappointed. “He told them up front that you’re deluding Mike. Not letting him face the reality that his body.”

She nods pensively, pinching her lower lip.

“Does that bother you?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t get where I am by caring about the opinions of others.”

Al rubs his face.

“I _was_ planning to get him in for a few innings for the game against the Blue Jays.” She says, after a while.

“No.” Al says determinedly. “Blake and I are friends, but I think he’s wrong about this, about you. I want Mike to utilize you as much as possible. So, I want him to stay back for this road trip and train with you. Use the time well, Baker. It might come to an end faster than you think.”

 She nods.

“Buck was very impressed with you that day.” Al says, after a small silence. “This is the same guy who used to think a woman in the dugout was bad luck.”

“Like on a ship?” Ginny giggles.

Al grins. “Bowman won’t stop harping about your screwball.” He adds.

Ginny shrugs.

“Look – I know you already have a job, but have you ever considered a career as a coach?”

Ginny blinks.

“You mean like for high school or college teams? Or fastball?”

“I mean – here.” He knocks his table. “With the _Padres_. It would be the farm teams at first, and you’d have to ride behind a senior coach for a while before you made it to an independent position, but I think you have a bright future.”

“Mr. Luongo…” She shakes her head.

“I know being a PT is a steady paycheque but… you have something in you that a lot of other people don’t.” He grimaces. “Don’t ask me what exactly it is. If I knew how to use…” He taps his head. “This noggin to say the right words I wouldn’t be in so much trouble with the Front Office.”

Ginny chuckles.

He smiles at her kindly. “You’re tough, Baker. You can’t be bullied. Those are admirable qualities.”

Ginny doesn’t know what to say.

Al sighs. “I’ll be honest, even with so many impressive women in my life, if I was asked to call up a girl to my clubhouse, I’d be throwing a fit.” He sticks his thumb at himself. “I am the poster child for gender hypocrisy, let me just admit that upfront. I’d probably be the biggest hurdle for you to achieve your dream of pitching in the majors.” He makes a lopsided grimace.

“Aww! Don’t sell yourself short, Skip.” She shrugs. “I doubt that you’d go so far as to be a hurdle. And as much as I appreciate your honesty, I think you’d get used to me being around, faster than you think.”

He gives her a fatherly smile and then sighs. “The more I see you work, the more terrible I feel that your dream to play in the majors didn’t work out. I can’t put my finger on it but it feels like – a loss -   to the game, somehow. And, that is a lot for me to admit, Baker.” He gives her an affectionate look. “Coaching - it’s not the same, but I gotta tell ya – it’s pretty damn close.”

Ginny’s deeply touched, and astonished at his suggestion.

 

Mike is not.

“Of course, you’d kill it as a coach, are you kidding me?” Mike wheezes when Ginny applies pressure to his hamstrings. “You’re a hardass, you’re moody and you’ve benched me!” He quips, grunting. “Totally coach material.”

“ _I’m_ moody?” Ginny echoes.

“The moodiest.” Mike announces with a suppressed grin, while Ginny checks the weights on the abductor machines.

She narrows her eyes and adds more weights than he’s accustomed to, so he knows she doesn’t appreciate his affronts.

Doesn’t stop him.

“You’re ornery.” Mike states, that beard moving closer to his eyes.

She adds another weight and then lifts her eyebrows at him as a challenge.

“You’re plucky but pernickety.” He’s full smiles as he starts the reps with a daring expression. “Eccentric.” He heaves. “Cruel, draconian and parsimonious.”

“Do you even know what those words mean or did you just memorize the thesaurus last night?” She counters.

“Not last night.” He says, pensively. “Yesterday at the game – I was sittin’ on my acceptably fine ass in the dugout. You know – _not_ playing.” He states emphatically. “It was great. Not boring at all! Buck let me borrow his the thesaurus for little recreational reading.”

“And Buck has a thesaurus just lying around in the dugout.” She cocks her head at him.

He ignores her rhetoric. “I’m beginning to expand my horizons. Really, Baker I am. It’s so much fun just sitting there listening to my teammates comparing number of Instagram followers while a major league baseball game is going on like twenty feet away.”

Ginny wants to laugh but has decided that she won’t.

“I’m plannin’ on being a Spelling Bee Commissioner in my retirement. There’s gotta be a commissioner for Spelling Bees right?” Mike asks, chewing the gum aggressively while he pushes his legs apart and with the machine. “Lord knows I’m gonna need the job. My dominatrix PT won’t let me play and it’s a matter of time before the team won’t want me around.”

Ginny determinedly ignores his rambling but she knows it’s a matter of time she’ll be bursting with laughter. He lets out a loud sigh.

“You do know, Mr. Commissioner ‘parsimonious’ means stingy.” Ginny remarks, leaning her elbow against the sensor of the machine.

He freezes mid-adduction and looks at her sheepishly.

Ginny widens her eyes mockingly.

He rolls his jaw like he hadn’t just blundered and resumes the exercises with an innocent face.

(And Ginny really wants to pull his cheeks.)

Her phone buzzes.

“Is that lover boy?” Mike snipes.

Actually it’s Evelyn, but Ginny won’t indulge him.

“None of your business.” Ginny warns with a smile.

“I don’t get it. What do you see in him?” he grumbles.

Ginny lifts her eyes up off the phone.

“I mean I get it…he’s intelligent, he’s a doctor.” He looks bored. “He’s _passably_ good looking. More like a Screech-Slater hybrid.”

“Screech-Slater hybrid?”

“ _Saved by the bell_.”

“I know who Screech and Slater are.”

“Apparently, I look like Zack Morris.” He gloats.

“You _did_.” She agrees. “ _Before_ you decided to save the ecosystem growing on your face.”

He lifts his brow in appreciation of her dig. Ginny gives him a sassy smile.

“But apart from that…” He lets out a grunt getting back to his reps. “I don’t think he’s good enough for ya.”

“Oh really, and you know what’s good enough for me?”

“Yep.”

She shoots a deadpan look.

“Can he even _grow_ a beard?” He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully.

Ginny gurgles with laughter and shakes her head, looking at her phone. It’s a text about girl’s night.

“I’ll bet he can’t throw a ball.” He clucks his tongue.

“Actually Dr. M has a mean left handed swing…” She shrugs. Mike’s chewing slows when she says that. “He’s the shortstop for the Centre’s team.”

“Whatever. He’s not a catcher.” Mike mutters, glaring a hole into the weight slot of the machine.

“No.” Ginny mollifies, texting her back. “ _That_ he’s not.”

His eyes perk up and he chews the gum happily.

“And he’s not my _favourite_ catcher either.” Ginny patronizes.

He beams up at her. Ginny feels like she’s looking at a six-year-old that she just handed a giant lollipop to.

“But…” She sighs. “I’ll bet he knows the meaning of the word ‘parsimonius’.” Ginny teases.

His legs stop. Ginny winks at him, putting the phone back in her pocket.

“Won’t mean for much if he can’t spell it.” He mopes and starts the levers them apart with his thighs. “P-A-R-…”

And she can’t control it any more, she’s in hysterics by the time he’s done spelling it out.

 

* * *

 

 

The Padres return from the road trip in high spirits with a 4-2 win ready to take on the Rockies on home ground.

In an ideal world, Mike would be back to his jovial, cocky, pleasant self once his team was back. They’d return to their usual banter, and he’d be less inclined to bitch and moan once he was distracted by the team’s activities.

In reality – he follows her orders with marginally less crankiness. There’s tremendous improvement in his physical stamina and his knee conditioning after the modifications she brought into his lifestyle and training. Yet, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge the difference often enough; keeps whining and cribbing like a cantankerous child.

And for some unfathomable reason it all gets infuriatingly more attractive.

 

“Mike Lawson has a crush on you.” Evelyn says, plainly, when Ginny confides her woes on girls night.

“Oh. Kill me now.” Ginny mutters. “This again?”

“As a matter of fact,” Evelyn interrupts her by raising her palm, “I _know_ he has a crush.”

“Blip said he’s not over…”

“Ah! Blip doesn’t know anythin’” Evelyn brushes her off. “These are affairs of the heart. My bae don’t know nothin’ about affairs of the heart. He a man. Men are stupid.”

“Amen to that.” Ginny huffs.

“Question is here – how would you like that furry face between yo' thighs?” Evelyn wiggles her eyebrows.

Ginny rolls her eyes “Would you stop that?” She shakes her head. “Evie, he’s my patient. I would never…”

Evelyn sighs and then stops her ramble.  “Gin, Blip’s been observing him. He says his form looks better than what it was when Sandler was handling him. I think whatever you’re doing is working.”

“Thank you.” She says, and then rolls her eyes. “I wish Lawson could see it.”

“Actually,” Evelyn grimaces. “I think he’s refusing to admit it. Maybe it’s because he wants you around more.”

“Huh?”

“It’s kind of like when Marcus started failing quizzes on purpose, because he didn’t wanna say goodbye to his first-grade teacher. He had a little boy crush on her too.”

Ginny twists her mouth.

“Iddybiddy Mike Lawson…” Evelyn sings. “Has a little boy crush on you too, Miss Ginny.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He agrees to try cryotherapy at the Centre; she manages to get Smith and Mugh to collaborate to supervise his session.

“You okay?” She asks him, wrapping up his knees with warmers after she helps him out of the hyperbaric chamber, checking for signs of frostbite on his skin.

“Yeah – it stings.” Mike says, wearily, pulling his arm off her shoulder. He shifts his hips like he’s testing sensation on his lower body. “Damn, that thing was worse than an ice bath.” He comments weakly.

“Are you telling me there’s no difference in the way your knees feel?” Dr. Smith asks.

“I don’t put too much strain on my knees.” He says. “My back’s feeling the brunt of it, though.”

Cute Mug looks curiously between Mike and her.

“What do those probe thingies say?” Mike asks, nodding at the myographs in Smith’s hand.

“There’s more than fifty percent improvement since the last time.” Smith says.  “That’s progress.”

Mike shrugs. “Maybe it’s too gradual for me to notice.”

“And the pain?”

“The pain is better.” He admits, scratching his beard, hugging his body when the shivers hit.

Ginny drapes a blanket around his shoulders and bundles him up. He follows her actions with her eyes, smiles softly when she meets his gaze.

Cute Mug clears his throat and Ginny pulls away.

“I’m actually more concerned if he’s compensating with his core muscle or the other knee.” Ginny says, looking away from Mike’s bewitching eyes. She goes to both doctors and taps on the myograms of the other leg. “These amplitudes are higher and that knee is also showing degenerative changes, Dr. Smith. I’m worried he might wear it out. And if he’s saying there’s a strain on his back….” She sighs.

Smith nods. “In which case – I’d suggest he take it easy.” Smith says. “Make his transition gradual. How about we do a follow up MRI after a couple of weeks”

She looks at Mike in query. “Are you okay with playing limited innings, Lawson?”

He doesn’t look pleased, but he does nod silently.

 

“Are you disappointed, Old man.” She asks him as they walk to the parking lot.

“Nope.” He says, but Ginny can see he’s brooding. And, he looks flushed – bone tired.

Ginny claps her hand on his forehead. “Are you, all right?” She worries.  “D’you have a fever?”

She stops him by coming directly to face him, clasping his beard with her other palm to feel the temperature of the skin underneath.

He catches her hands and pulls them off his face. “I’m fine.” He sighs.

“You’re kinda mopey.”

“I’m just tired.” He says, with a wry smirk.

Ginny fears if she’s been working him too hard. She’s chewing on her mouth thinking about giving him a break for a couple of days, only partially aware that her wrists are loosely shackled in his large hands.

“We don’t have to do cryotherapy if you don’t want to, okay?” She fusses. “You’ll be sore today but you’ll know whether it’s any good by tomorrow. The results are instanta –” Ginny breaks off and gasps when she feels it.

He’s been running his thumbs on the inside of her wrists, tracing figures of eight and a flurry of sparks crackle inside her body.

Her throat goes dry. Her voice gets stuck inside it.  And, Mike steps forward, looking deep into her eyes.

Without thinking she interlaces her fingers with his and steps forward. The air between them feels electric and hot. Her heart races, her mouth feels drier by the second. She runs her tongue over her lips to moisten it. He drops his eyelids, eyes falling to her mouth. Ginny notices long smoky lashes that beat like butterfly wings.

 _(He’s your patient,_ the voice inside warns.)

“Yo! Ginny B!”

Ginny jumps back, pulling her hands out of his, pinching her mouth and gathering herself.

 _(Dammit!_ The same stupid voice complains.)

She doesn’t miss the irritable expression that darkens his features or the way his half-open eyelids fuse shut.

Risa comes running to her.

“Oh hey, Risa.” Ginny greets her in a rusty voice. “What’s happening?”

“So…my mom she’s exhibiting some fugly old sportsguy photographs at this gallery and my dance troupe’s been invited to do a modern rendition of _Giselle_ as part of the entertainment _._  It’s totally nepotism. She thinks she can make up for being a bitch to me by getting me my own recital! As though it makes up for me losing prima ballerina _twice_!”

Ginny’s mind is for some reason, flashing images of the small flecks of grey on Mike’s beard. She has no clue what the girl is talking about so she waits for her to finish ranting.

“So, I’m sending you the e-vite.” Risa lifts her eyebrow snootily. “I hate wasting paper. I’m totally about the environment.”  She glances at Mike. “Papa Bear’s coming anyway. You can be his date.”

“’M Sorry?” Mike says, grimacing at her with vexation.

“My mom said you’d be coming.” Risa says. “It’s in two weeks time in LA.”

He rapidly flaps those pretty lashes several times before his eyes widen. “Your mom is Amelia Slater?” He exclaims.

Risa rolls her eyes. “Yeah – oh-kay! So, she’s kind of my step mom. But – I call her mom because I hate my biological mom more than I hate her and it pisses my biological mom when I call Amelia ‘mom’.”

Ginny lets out a frustrated noise. “Wow, your family drama never ceases to amaze me.” Ginny mutters.

“I know, right!” Risa squeals with glee. “I keep telling my mom – Amelia – I mean that we should totally be a reality show. I mean she knows all the bigwigs in TV – I don’t know why we can’t have our own show. It’s just a bunch of cameras in our house. We’d be bigger than the Kardashians, definitely bigger than the Osbournes.”

Ginny sighs. “Okay, well thank you for the invitation Risa, but I’m not going to be able to…”

“Look, Papa Bear’s comin’!” She points to Mike. “He’s got no choice. It’s some weird old baseball guy stuff and he just _has_ to be there!”

“It’s a fundraiser for the Hall of Fame. A collection of some rare photographs from that aren’t on display to the public.” Mike explains, pursing his mouth like he’s holding back laughter. “There’ll be some nice photographs of Jackie Robinson.” He points out.

Ginny frowns at Mike. “How did you know I…?”

He cocks his head at her. “I know things.”

“Excuse you.” Risa takes offence. “ _You_ sir, are invited ‘cause my pain in the ass tyke of a brother wants to meet you because he was so mad that I got a selfie with you first.”

Mike lifts his palms up defensively pretending to be apologetic.

She turns her head to Ginny and sneers. “I’d like _you_ to come to and see me dance!”

Ginny shakes her head. “I’ll try, Risa.”

“Look, you’re a walking fashion disaster. You’ve got a killer booty but you hide it under those godawful leggings and t-shirts. It’s just gross.” Risa shakes her head snootily.

Ginny crosses her arms and makes an exasperated face at Risa. When she glances at Mike he’s –

“Are you seriously checking out my ass?” She barks.

He makes that guiltocence face that makes it impossible for anyone to stay angry for long.

“And you’re really mean! I mean – like all out mean.” Risa asserts, waving her hand between Ginny and Mike as though it’s supposed to serve as an example for meanness.

Mike sniggers besides her, nodding affirmatively. “I get that a lot.” Ginny says with a sarcastic wince.

He drops his head to his side and gives her that boyish grin. Ginny looks away because she just wants to grab his face and kiss him for no logical reason.

“But I love ballet.” Risa says, in a sad voice staring into space. “I’m actually pretty good at it.”

“I believe you.” She says.

“And I’m not good at anything else but dancing. I’m actually flunking English….”

She sighs, drops her head into her hands while Risa goes into a self-depreciating rant. Ginny swings her leg out and kicks Mike lightly in the shin when he starts chuckling.

He yelps and that finally – _finally_ arrests Risa’s diatribe.

“I’m sure there’s other things you’d be good at if you put your mind to it.” Ginny tells Risa, feeling impatient.

“You’re the only person _I’d_ really like to see there.” She says, in a small voice.

Ginny sighs – because now she feels bad.

“Could you try and make it?” She tells Ginny the date for the recital and then just takes off without even as much as a goodbye.

“Wow.” Mike says as he starts the car. “You weren’t kidding about her being another me.” He frowns and then grunts. “Huh. Now that I think of it, Amelia said the exact same thing ‘bout her.”

“She’s a narcissist.” Ginny hisses.

“So am I.”

“No, you _act_ like you’re a narcissist.” Ginny asserts as she buckles in. “There’s a difference.”

Mike just gives her an unguarded smile.

“Are we going?” Ginny gestures.

“Yeah.” He says.

 

“You know – it could be fun.” He says, once they’re on the road.

“What? The recital or the exhibition?”

“I mean – you and me on a date.”

“Mike.”

“I’m getting divorced, Ginny.” He says in a plain voice.

It’s the first time he’s called her Ginny since –

(Since the day he got discharged from the hospital.)

“You’re my patient.” She argues. “There are ethical implications to fraternizing.”

“Then – let’s go as friends. Okay –? Just one night where you’re not my therapist and I’m not a professional ballplayer. Just two normal people going out - as _friends_. We’ll just watch a narcissistic little teenager dance, look at some,” he mimics Risa, “old sports guy pictures and then.." he smiles, "maybe go for a stroll on the Santa Monica pier – as _friends_.”

Ginny sighs.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“If you’re not interested,” he breaks the long silence, “just – say it. You don’t have to let me down gently, Baker. I’m a big boy.”

The rejection in his voice just kills her. She’s way more interested than she should be, that’s the problem. Ginny closes her eyes and shakes her head.

She can’t say it – but she can’t lie to him either.

“I want you to play in the games against the _Dodgers_ ,” she says, instead. “But, on _one_ condition. You’ll catch four – maybe five - innings only.”

He sighs loudly. Ginny thought he’d be happier.

“Okay.” He agrees sullenly.

The silence is unbearable. She mulls everything over all the way till her apartment. He keeps the engine running once he pulls up, waiting for her to exit.

She shakes her head, shifting uncomfortably. “Risa’s recital – is on the day of the last game.” She says, staring at the crooked structure of her building because she can’t bring herself to look at him. “We have to be back early. If I feel you’re fit enough to play the series against the Diamondbacks, I want you well rested. So – maybe no strolls on the pier. Okay?”

He doesn’t say a word. But he cuts the engine.

Ginny turns her head to face him.

He’s gaping at her, those intense eyes appear a murky grey in the darkness of the car.

“Yeah?” He echoes.

“Yeah.” She says, with a smile.

The joy on Mike’s face makes her feel like she’s won the lottery.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Team morale was high when Al announced that Mike would be playing.

Ginny drives down with Evelyn following the _Padres_ bus out to LA. She’s put up in a smaller hotel with the other PTs, courtesy Oscar who was thrilled to hear that Mike was being added to the active roster. The game against the Dodgers would be a critical deciding factor for them to get into the Wild Card.

“It’s a personal thing, for Mike to win this.” Evelyn comments on the drive. “The _Dodgers_ are Rachel’s favourite team.”

That alarms her. The last thing she wants is for Mike is to overdo it because he’s on acting on some hidden agenda. Seeing Rachel Patrick in the visitor clubhouse early morning before the game doesn’t do much to allay her nervousness.

Where most of the reporters were flocking around Livan who blows them off with his usual ‘ _No entiendas’_ routine, Rachel seems interested in hounding Al about the rumours on the _Padres_ Front Office wanting to fire him.

Ginny happened to be chasing after Al to tell him something pertinent when Mike crosses path with Rachel. Ginny takes cover behind some cartons, curious to spy on their interaction.

Ginny sees the hurt expression that shadows his face as soon as he spots Rachel. It hardens when he notes her pestering Al. His face transforms to that charming, showy smile that Ginny’s beginning to distinguish from his real, genuine smile. He waylays his ex-wife, cracks a couple of jokes, and then shoos her away masterfully, letting Al disappear.

“I hear your new PT is quite the dictator.” Rachel says, sneakily. “How does it feel to be benched by a girl?”

She’s surprised that Rachel doesn’t know he’s on the roster for the day. She wonders why Mike doesn’t correct her.

“That’s so sweet that you’re checking up on me Rach.” He crows.

Rachel gives him a cautious smile.

“It’s kind of like being nagged by you – ” He drawls. “Except she’s a tougher nut to crack.”

“Let’s hope she’s doesn’t end up on the Lawson Groupies DL at the end of it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing um – Blake was just mentioning something about her having a crush on you.”

Ginny blushes furiously. (Really, was she that obvious?)

“Sandler should know better than making foolish comments to the press.” Mike says in a cold voice.

“I’m not just the press, Mike.”

“Dr. Baker’s a friend.” He declares. “Not a groupie. There’s a difference.”

Rachel tilts her head. “A year back Blake had to go all the way to Maxine Armstrong to convince them to bench you, because after repeatedly warning you that you were an inch away from rupturing your ACL, you still refused to go back down. And now, Sandler feels your knees are fine but yet, you’re on the DL because some girl says so? What do you call that?”

Mike smirks at her, giving her that mask of a smile. “I’d call it ‘learning a lesson in taking it easy’.” He retorts.

Rachel snorts. “Yeah okay. Have fun watching the game from the dugout, Mike.” She says and starts walking away. Ginny’s taken aback at the mounting irk in Rachel’s pleasant voice. “It’s refreshing to know that there is at least one woman in this world you’re ready to listen to.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Al invites her to watch batting practice on the Dodger’s field. When she goes out, the boys welcome her with cheers and whistles. They treat her like their pampered baby sister and Ginny wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she’s thoroughly flattered. Some of them offer up their spaces around the batting cage for her to watch the hitters up close. She chooses her usual spot, besides her favorite person in the world. Mike doesn’t look at her, but he does offer her a stick of gum as Livan steps up.

Livan hits a couple of bombs, flamboyantly whirls around and winks at her.

 _“Para ti, amor._ ” He declares, like he’s a knight showing his favour.

Ginny giggles with amusement.

Mike spits beside her, making his annoyance apparent. Ginny elbows him, he elbows her back.

Dusty goes next. He drives one out the centre. He turns around and bows to her, slides his bat under his armpit comically like a knight’s lance. “ _Para ti, amor_.” He says.

Mike laughs with her.

Then Salvamini steps up. Only turns to her for the fouled hits with another funny: “ _Para ti, amor_.”

One by one they all follow suit. Some acknowledge her with every bomb, some at every pithy hit of the ball, some only when they foul, some when they miss the hits. Ginny laughs and claps for every one of them.

And finally, Mike steps up to bat. There’s a glaring trepidation on his face. Ginny senses he’s still irritated after his interaction with Rachel added to the apprehension of getting back into the game. So, she’s certain he won’t be joining the ' _Para ti, amor'_ train. He hits a couple of tentative shots that frustrate him more than anyone else. He hits another one that goes close to the foul lines.

“Warning track power.” She hazes.

He gives her the stink eye at first. Then he hits another one that it goes into the outfield and bounces weakly.

“Is that all you got?” She baits. “These fans came here to see you hit bombs now. C’mon!”

“You hit it past the infield anytime in your would-be career?” He retorts.

The boys chuckle.

“Define ‘infield’.” She retorts.

He shakes his head and readies himself again.

“Maybe we ought to do some meditation before the game.” Ginny hollers.

The boys start to laugh.

He slugs the ball and it flies straight out through the centre left. He looks at her incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” He barks. “Meditation?”

The next hit goes to the outfield again.

“Yknow? It might be useful to get your head in the game.” She teases.

“My head’s always in the game.” He announces and fouls the next ball.

“Don’t worry, Gin.” Blip goads. “Mike’s just havin’ a senior moment, ‘s all.”

Mike swings and misses the next ball, with a little chuckle.

“Don’t diss meditation, Lawson.” Ginny pokes. “It improves memory power and concentration.”

The boys start chuckling. Ginny clucks her tongue.

“Mike,” Al sighs, looking at her as though he regrets his decision to invite her. “Would you stop her chatter please?”

“Yeah, stop the chatter, Mike! C’mon now!” Ginny encourages.

He gives her that look and – god help her – she feels hot all over.

Ginny watches him homer the remaining five balls, joyfully hoots and cheers for him.

He turns around and to look at her. Ginny expects sarcasm, a smug grin or at least that jovial wit in his eyes but finds neither. His eyes are hold some deep and incomprehensible emotion.

“Para ti, amor.” He says, quirking his eyebrow.

There’s neither sarcasm nor playfulness in his tone.

 

 

“I need you to play for yourself out there.” She tells Mike just after he finishes his pre-game routine and is about to join the team for Al’s final roundup address. “I know it’s about the team, but right now – for today  - I need you to think of this as a test drive for your knees. Your body is healing. Your knees are getting on track. I want you to respect it. Let it give you as much as it wants to – not as much as it can. Don’t push it. Be kind to it. It’s okay if you’re not your best, you hear? I hate losing as much as you, but better lost the battle and win the war.”

He listens to her quietly, studying her with that same intensity as that morning at BP. When she’s done talking he gives her a lopsided smirk at the end of it and a haughty ‘Pffth!’.

Ginny rolls her eyes and wishes him luck.

He replies to that with another annoying ‘Pffth!’

 

 

Miraculous comebacks are in Ginny’s realistic opinion, a thing for the movies. Mike entering her life in such an unexpected way was a wonder enough. It would be excessive to expect any earth-shattering display at his first game back since he started training under her supervision. She just wants him to have an ordinary – passable game, with no major injuries.  

As it turns out, the indomitable Mike Lawson doesn't do ‘ordinary and passable’.

For the major part of the game, Ginny’s preoccupied fretting over his knees while he squats, so she doesn’t get much time to appreciate the furious defense Sonny and Mike put up, making the most of the four innings that she afforded him as a catcher. Kiki who’s sitting beside her, assures her that he can see more flexibility in his shifting. Sandler’s number two, keeps making caustic remarks. Ginny ignores both. She uses heavy duty binoculars to study every muscle group that Mike employs, scanning for any inkling of joint instability or anything that might signal pain. 

The bases are loaded when Mike goes out to bat in the fourth. He grand slams on the first ball thrown at him. Makes it look effortless.

"Baker, I feel like you’ve been charging that heavy duty battery this whole time.” Kiki marvels. “And it blew away the entire damn park when you plugged it in.”

Ginny isn’t inclined to pat herself on the back.

There’s utter emotionlessness emanating off him. He neither laughs nor smiles. The baserunners tackle him him with cheers and hugs but he accepts their congratulatory pats and slaps with deadpan nods. It has her wonder whether he’s masking pain. He doesn’t run or even jog his way back to the dugout. He merely walks, lifting his face in the direction of the section where she's sitting.

He scans face after face until his eyes settle on her. He slows his steps, keeping his gaze fixed on her all the way. He pauses before he steps into the dugout, just before he would disappear out of her view. 

His face breaks into a lopsided smirk - meant for her and her alone. Ginny can almost hear the ‘Pffth’ in her head.

In the fourth, the ball lands in Mike's glove while a runner is en route to steal second base, in the fraction of a second in which Mike aggressively rolls his weight onto the operated knee, throwing the ball at Blip, _still_ on his knees, morbid fear runs through her body. Sanders tags the runner out in time, there by scoring the last out of the inning.

Ginny's heart seems to function again only when Mike glances at her as he strolls back to the dugout. Ginny anxiously examines his gait. There’s no drag of foot, no limp - nothing. Not a hint of discomfort, not even a slight shuffle. He pauses again, gives her a smileless cursory nod as if to say – ‘I’m good.’ 

From their end, the Dodger's mount a commendable offence. Runs are given up and a lot of errors are made which Ginny doesn't find too surprising given Duarte’s interpersonal dynamics with the pitchers and fielders. Nonetheless, the Padres win it 12-7.

The clubhouse is all mayhem, chanting hurrahs in favour of Mike.

Al looks rather weepy when he finds her. “We did it, Baker!”

“We ain’t done nothing yet. Skip.” She says. “Test drive remember?”

“If that’s the test drive, sign me up for the car, kid!” He praises.

Ginny squeaks when he carelessly swats her ass. He waddles off, unaware of her mortification, slapping the ass of every other player who crosses path with him.

When Mike pops in her view, Ginny wants nothing more than to throw herself at him and scream her lungs out for joy and kiss him senseless.

But she doesn’t.

 _Still a long way to go,_ she thinks. In the next instant, she wonders if she’s turning into her Dad.

Mike just regards her peculiarly.

Ginny manages an awkward smile (because she really doesn’t want to turn into Pop).

“Aren’t you gonna ask me about how my knee feels?” He asks.

“That’s a question for the naysayers who didn’t believe in you.” Ginny says, letting pride through her voice. “I need you to get those old man joints into an icetub as soon as you are done with press, okay?”

He rolls his jaw around, unabashedly scans her shift with that pensive expression and speaks in a low, sexy rumble that somehow goes straight to her ladyparts. “Fine by me.” He says.

“I told you to take it easy, Old Man.” She says, picking up her bag, walking backwards unable to resist the urge to smile wide.

“You told me to play for myself.” He states with a cocky shrug. “I played for myself...”

Ginny chuckles and shakes her head.

“...Y Para ti, amor.” He says softly. There's a smile that’s heavier in his eyes than on his lips.

Ginny’s almost trips when a strange sensation wraps around her heart. It's the _way_ he says ‘amor’.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a date chapter. Amelia Rachel Risa make an appearance.  
> a bit on Ginny's backstory  
> BUT.  
> Let me know what you thought of this one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely love.  
> Sorry i was supposed to post this on no pitch thursday but got stuck with RL related issues.  
> In my world the Padres can win as many games as inhumanly impossible. So pardon all the cheesiness.  
> i fixed some baseball related stuff in the last chapter so re-reading may not hurt. If there's anything wrong baseball wise let me know and I'll fix it.

_Y Para ti, amor…._ (And for you, my love).

She can’t sleep.

The game footage plays on her iPad but Ginny isn’t paying attention. She tries to read some mind-numbing boring as fuck paper on stem cell therapy for degenerative knees but it doesn’t work. She downs a large bottle of undiluted Bacardi on an empty stomach but it doesn’t have an effect.

 _“You told me to play for myself...I played for myself_ … _Y Para ti, amor….”_

She has herself to blame for the sleeplessness.

And yet…

 _“You told me to play for myself...I played for myself_ … _Y Para ti, amor….”_

(And for you, my love)

That smile in his eyes felt like a caress, it hovered around her, embraced her with the intimacy of a thousand hugs.

So.

Ginny does not sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny’s not big on superstition, but she gets that it's integrally woven into the nature and history of Baseball.

Some pre-game rituals were unobtrusive: like a quiet prayer, or kissing photographs of loved ones or making religious signs. Some were elaborate, like Tommy and Butch’s super complicated handshake that lasted about five full minutes. Some were gross like Blip wearing an unwashed smelly Grandmaster Flash t-shirt, Javanes’ need to manicure and grease his goatie with bone marrow cream or Salvamini insisting on eating pickled onions. Livan’s was just creepy, he would read everyone’s horoscopes out loud while simultaneously arranging battered dollheads in a figure of eight in his cubby.

Stupid as they were, the players’ ridiculous, repetitive routines were a source of entertainment for her.

Blip calls her to the cubby area of the visitor's clubhouse just as she's about to leave for the stands. That sneaky smile on his face should have been an indication of something afoot, but she’s sleep deprived and cranky so she doesn’t have all her wits about her. 

The _Padres_ are all waiting in a file, mischievously smirking at her.

Livan starts the train. “ _Para ti, amor_.” He says and walks out.

“Oh no.” She mutters, slumping her shoulders.

Javanes follows suit. Blip next.

Al, Buck, Sonny, Kiki and the other coaches are in stitches at her expense. Ginny sighs, hides her red face in her palms and gestures for the boys to get a move on as they recite their ‘ _Para ti, amor’s_ and head out.

Mike’s at the bottom of the line. He looks cheerful and positive. She’d allowed five innings for this game and there’s a sweet, smile on his face that makes him look younger.

“Not you too.” She whines.

Mike tips his head. “Para ti…. _amor_.” He says, very unlike to leg-pulling that the others were doing and more like the deep, sexy voice that had taken up residence in her head all night.

“Livan does it better.” She retaliates.

His eyes darken, his smile firms and one eye squints. “We’ll see about that.” He murmurs.

The Padres win.

Superstition officially stops being funny when Ginny realizes she’s become a part of team rituals.

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn’t sleep again the second night. It’s more out of anticipation of the not-date than anything. When she doesn’t sleep, she’s cranky.  Also, she skipped breakfast (again) because she had to rush to the Dodger’s stadium to help Mike with his stretches – so, she’s cranky and hungry. And when she’s cranky _and_ hungry, the irritability ups to zero-tolerance mode.

And for some fateful reason, Tommy Miller’s temper is destined to act as an opposing force to hers.  He’s chirpy when she intercepts him the clubhouse.

“What’s up caterpillar?” He drawls with a grin. “Lawson infect you the grumpty-dumpty-virus?

“You’re starting today, right?” She asks, nodding at his pitching arm. “How’s your arm feelin’?”

“Good! Hear you’re giving the Old Man, s’more time in the box. Seriously? Why aren’t you smiling?”

“Yeah, listen.” She calls him closer.

When he does she pokes her finger into his chest. “ _You_ better get your shit together, today. If I see Lawson scuttling around anymore than he needs to, I’ll be comin’ after you with a bat!” She barks. “ _Any_ wild pitches and you can kiss your tough-nuts goodbye, you hear?”

Tommy chuckles.

Ginny keeps her finger in place, glaring at him until he shrivels and nods.

 

Mike looks stressed when she finds him and Ginny has an inkling why. He waves the reporters away when he spots her.

“ _Five_ innings today, if you’re still good after four.” She says. “No heroics please. Take it easy out there, okay? Y’all won two games already.”

He nods.

“What’s up?” She asks when he doesn’t say anything.

He rubs his face and looks at her with concern. “I felt something yesterday –” He confesses in a vacant voice, glancing around to see if any teammates or reporters are eavesdropping. “It was like an electric shock, over here.” He points to the lateral edge of the better knee. “When I went past third.”

Ginny had surmised that was what was bothering him. She noticed the slight stumble while he rounded off third base when she reviewed the game footage. She sinks to her haunches. He rolls up his pants exposing up to the knee.

“Did it freak you out?” She asks with a comforting hand on his knee cap. “Don’t worry…it doesn’t mean your knee is giving out, Old Man.”

There’s scepticism in his eyes, when he looks at her. 

“Yeah, it kinda freaked me out. The last time I felt something like that was…” He sighs and shakes his head, he rubs his operated knee. “I used to feel that in Spring Training. I ignored it and within weeks the pain became unbearable – that’s when Smith told me I had to have the surgery.”

She doesn’t make light of his anxiety or his fear.

“That’s what happens when you’re putting too much weight on it. We need to work on your running when we get back.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Ginny can tell he’s worried she might be underplaying the issue. She distracts him by checking the fluctuation of the knee cap and the movements of his joint.

“Get up and do a lunge for me on this knee?” She pats the operated knee before she stands up. He does it without much effort.

“Now the other one.” She says, gently. Ginny has a grip on him before he winces, lets out an expletive and wobbles.

“Same feeling, right?” She smiles, helping him to sit on the chair.

He nods, looking less anxious and more relieved at her assessment. Ginny pulls up Blip’s empty chair and motions for his iPad. She pulls up the video of his run around the diamond the previous day.

“The way you run is important, especially if you’re trying to keep your knees safe. If we don’t adjust the way you run, your body weight backfires on them.”

She gives him a quick primer on running kinetics and where he’s getting it wrong. He pulls out a stick of gum and starts chewing on it, like he’s ruminating on what she’s telling him. He looks attentive, listening to her with a grim expression while he chews. Ginny knows that look is when he absorbs everything spoken to him with full concentration.

“We can’t work on that just yet," She concludes."Not while you're out on the away games but it’s on the top of the list of things for me to work on for when we’re back home.”

“What do I do now?” He asks.

“For now, if it’s possible…I need you to focus on how your ankle hits the ground…” She shows him how his affected knee needs to bend to maximize his running. She pushes his shoulder angling his flank to show how his spine needs to be aligned in when he’s midstance.  

“Okay?” She asks, idly rubbing his back, between the shoulder blades.

He grunts unhappily, leans his elbows on his knees, drops his head to sulk. Ginny feels like she’s trying to cajole a mopey adolescent who'd been scratched from the list.

“We’ve gotta work real hard to realign the way you run, ‘kay?” She speaks gently, patting his back.  “It’s tough.” She admits, with a small pout. He looks up at her over his shoulder, that movingly frustrated expression abating from his face. She grins at him, willing him mentally to feel the hope she projects. “Not impossible,” She assures with a cheerful shake of her head.  

He just stares into her eyes with that penetrating gaze that makes it progressively difficult for her to think logically.

When it seems like he’s ready to smile, his eyes turn playful and he opens his mouth, no doubt to say something make some clever, witty statement that will have her laughing.

“Dr. Baker?” A sugary female voice interrupts them.

Mikes head jerks. Ginny pulls her hand back hastily but not quick enough to escape the snare of that keen gaze.

“Rachel.” Mike echoes.

Rachel Patrick nods at Mike with a smile and then extends a hand to her. “Hi! Rachel Patrick.”

“H-Hi.” Ginny says, shaking Rachel’s hand.

“Can I get a comment from you on how your patient is doing?” She glances at her ex.

Ginny doesn’t miss the way she says ‘patient’.

 _“Tsk!”_ Mike shakes his head. He rolls down his pants and grunts. “Way to go on the restraint, Rach.” He mutters, acerbically. “You wanna be a little more obvious? Didn’t quite get the implication of your subtleties!”

“Well, if I wanted to be subtle, Mike, I’d ask her privately.” Rachel replies directly.

Mike clucks his tongue again, wheels his chair around to face the cubby. He flaps out his socks and rolls them on.

Rachel looks at Ginny. “Do you think he’ll be able to sustain his form?”

“I’m fine.” Mike retorts, still facing his cubby. “My knees are fine. Why don’t you ask _me_ if _I’m_ able to sustain _my_ form?”

“You _have_ made quite the comeback, Mike. I just hope it's for good.”

“It’s just two games.” He argues, wheeling his chair around.

“Look…” Ginny intervenes with a sigh. “I’m not at liberty to discuss - anything.” She stretches her mouth. “Patient-therapist privilege.” She shrugs. “I’m sure you’d understand.” Ginny returns.

Rachel gives her a cynical look. Ginny meets her stare for stare.

“I hear you were the first woman pitcher drafted into the minors.” Rachel says, suddenly.

“Jackie Mitchell was drafted into the minors.” Mike says, quickly.  “Chattanooga Lookouts.”

That – well Ginny can’t hold back her surprise.

“Wow, Mike that is _impressive_.” Rachel mocks, crossing her arms over her chest. “So, interesting to see you’re taking such a keen interest in the history in women's sports…”

“Huh.” Mike snorts, cutting her off.

“What?”

“And here I thought I _impressed_ you on our first date.” He bends to wear his shoes.

“What?” Rachel shakes her head.

“I told you about Jackie Mitchell on our first date.” Mike says. “What with you being a feminist and all – I figured I had to make a great impression,” he sighs and gives her a sarcastic sneer. “I still remember the look on your face, but now I’m thinking that maybe you were faking it.” He clucks his tongue. “Like a lot of things in our marriage.”

Rachel’s face steels up. She spins around looking at Ginny with a soul searing gaze.

“I uh have – things to do.” Ginny makes to leave.

“There was a lot of speculation you were going to go all the way –” She says in a terrifyingly sweet voice. “Maybe we’d have seen you pitch in the bigs if you stuck on.”

“Yeah, so?” Ginny frowns.

“I’m curious. Why do you think people are yet unwilling to see a woman play the major leagues?”

_Woah._

“What was it like, being in the minors?” Rachel lifts her eyebrows. “Couldn’t have been easy.”

“Ms. Patrick…” Ginny starts.

“Rumours are you faced a lot of trouble from your male colleagues.” Rachel drops it on her. “Is that why you quit?”

_Woah and fucking woah._

Rachel must notice the shocked expression on her face. “We’re living in the internet age, Dr. Baker.” Rachel winces. “It isn’t _that_ difficult to get information these days.”

Ginny’s head swims. There’s no way Rachel could have known about the harassment. Ginny was never open about it. She didn’t disclose it to a soul…

_…except, Trevor._

Ginny glances beyond Rachel to find Mike. His forehead is furrowed, his mouth is half-open and his eyes are glued to Ginny’s.

She crosses her arms and frowns at Rachel. She smiles back innocently and but keeps her green eyes fixed on Ginny in a steady and unyielding manner.

“My time in the minors isn’t relevant to my current job, lady” Ginny answers tersely. “And _neither_ of which is any of your business.”

Rachel’s cunning smile widens.

“I have things to do, Miss Patrick. Have a good day.” She nods at her curtly and walks away.

Ginny refuses to meet Mike’s hard stare.

She can’t.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes every inch of her resolve not to run back to her hotel and cry into the pillow. Her body is in the _Dodgers_ stadium but her mind is back in Texas, back in the year she discovered the meaning of love and heartbreak, trust and betrayal, hope and disillusionment all in one painful season.

 _“Endure, endure, endure.”_ – Pop had said.

Before, she chose the dress.

After that, he just didn’t invest himself in anything.

It felt like a waste. The part of her childhood that was diverted into baseball. It felt like a completely wasted effort. It tore her family apart in a way, though that was the least of Ginny’s regrets.

If she’d chosen the glove though – she wonders if it would have ever gotten to that point. Would Pop have been there, the moment she ran out of gas? Would he be glaring at her - that emotionless face, those stern eyes, reprimanding her for even _thinking_ about giving up?

Will wouldn’t be around to get slapped (thank god) but Pop would no doubt have found another device to get her over the hurdle.

And… _“Endure.”_ He would say.

What would it have truly meant to achieve the dream? What if she made it to the majors? What if she made it to the _Padres_? Would any of these players who were now her friends have accepted her?

Would Mike have accepted her?

 

 

Evelyn elbows her to her senses.

“What is wrong with you?” She asks. “Are you okay honey?”

“Nothin’. ‘M tired, haven’t slept.” She answers mechanically.

“Ginny! You’ve been sitting like a zombie.” Evelyn shakes her. “My bae homered!”

Blip homered and she missed it? Ginny feels terrible. She looks up at the scoreboard and sighs.

“Tommy’s not allowed a single base hit!” Evie hisses. “C’mon! And Mike’s been trying to catch your eye since the first! Oh! He’s lookin’ at you now! Say hi!” She waves in the direction of the diamond.

Ginny looks out on the field. Mike’s strolling back, helmet on, lagging behind the players as they jog towards the visitor’s dugout looking in her direction wearing his trademark glower.

Ginny sighs, smiles and sticks her thumb up.

He nods at Evie’s wave and but continues to scowl at her.

Ginny wonders why she’s preferring his scowls to smiles.

A clubbie comes to fetch her a few minutes after Mike disappears into the dugout. “Mr. Luongo says he needs you.”

Ginny jumps out of her seat and runs.

 

 

Al gestures to Mike sitting in the corner next to the shelves. From the strategic way in which the _Padres_ coaches are standing Ginny can tell they’re trying to obscure him from the cameras. The home team takes up their fielding positions while Salvamini heads out to bat with Voorhies on deck.

“What’s going on?” She whispers, crouching down in front of him as he hunches over his knee. “How bad is the pain?”

“It’s nothing.” He whispers. “I just –”

Ginny looks up. He glances at her and then away, makes a big show of holding his knee.

“Just what?” Ginny prods.

“I’m fine.” He mutters, looking up at her. “I just – wanted to see you.”

She blinks.

He shrugs. “I’m a narcissist. I can’t really think beyond myself. I’ve pretty much been the caretaker of me...” He sticks his thumb at himself. "...for a while."

Ginny frowns.

He scratches his beard. “But, I’m not blind.” He places his hand so that his thumb touches her pinky. He looks into her eyes and there’s nothing but unguarded emotion and affection that makes Ginny want to gasp loudly.

She curbs it to a tiny sob.

He swallows, glances around and then back down. “I wish, you’d made it to the majors, Baker.” He whispers. “Every single day, since that time out in the hospital gardens – when we first played together.” He looks up at her. “I’ve wished that you were a pitcher – and sometimes I dream that you’d be _my_ pitcher.”

Ginny looks down, chewing her lips.

“The one good thing about divorce is I guess, is no longer have to apologize on behalf of my wife.” Mike mumbles.

“You’re in the middle of a ballgame.” She mutters. “This is hardly the time.”

“But…” He ignores her reprimand. “I can apologize for myself. I know what life was like in the minors. I know what – men can be like. And – I cannot imagine what you might have had to go through.”

She moistens her mouth and claps his knee.

He sighs. “I’m feeling fine.” He whispers, he picks up her hand and places it on his kneecap. “I just – I can’t - I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What you’ve had to give up – what you’ve had to go through. What you had to take on. What you still take on. You kinda…” He whispers, looking at his palm over hers. “You kinda blow me away.” He squeezes his palm over the back of hers and it sends waves of fire down Ginny’s arm, almost takes her part. Her eyes sting with tears.

He releases her palm quickly, pulling his hand up on his thigh. He looks up at her and then glances around quickly.

“I promised you I’d listen to you, so if you don’t want me going back out after five, I’ll stay put.” He says. “It’s just…” He sighs. “I know it won’t mean anything. Or it can’t make up for what you’ve had to endure. But…” He looks straight into her eyes and runs his thumb over her knuckles. “If you let me, I would like to catch this one, all the way…for you.”

The unspoken plea that fills his eyes, hits her deep.  “Just you.” He whispers.

Her heart does something funny.

Ginny turns on her knee, glances at Tommy and sighs. He’s sitting in the corner besides Sonny, focussed on the water cooler in front of him, disinclined to look anywhere else. Even if the others were willing to talk to him, Ginny knows he wouldn’t reply.

That look on Tommy’s face, Ginny knows it. She’s been there. He’s feeling it. He might actually have it _in him_ to see it through.

“So, what’s the verdict, Baker?” Al asks, coming behind her, looking at Mike with worry. “He wouldn’t tell me what was going on until he spoke to you. Is it his knees? Are they in trouble?”

Ginny jumps up to her feet and motions to Buck. Garland seems so astonished that she wants to speak to him, that he doesn’t move until Al glares at him.

“You think he can do it?” She asks, nodding her head at Tommy.

Both men look confused at her implication at first. Buck seems to get her query before Al. He looks at Tommy and then at her and nods.

The other guys are looking over at them curiously. As far as Ginny knows, all ballplayers are superstitious wimps, so Ginny knows that any attempt to call Tommy to ask for his opinion would mean her getting collectively plucked out of her spot and tossed out of the stadium (and Mike would probably be leading that charge).

“Lawson wants to catch the whole game.” Ginny tells Al. She sighs and rubs her face. “And, Duarte and Miller make _the_ worst combination.” She mutters.

Buck exchanges a glance with Al. Both men look impressed by her opinion and both grunt simultaneously in agreement.

“Dammit.” She huffs, looking out at the field.

“Are you sure?” Al asks.

“No!” She shakes her head exasperatedly.

“I think you scared the shit out of him this morning.” Al smirks. “Maybe I should get all my pitchers to get their heads bitten off by you once in a while.”

Ginny doesn’t know how Al found out, but she can’t think about it now. She pulls off her cap, runs her hands through her hair and blows a raspberry in frustration.

“You’re not obliged to worry about anyone but Mike, Baker.” Al says, with some inexplicable emotion in his eyes that makes her anxious. “Worrying about the team is my job.”

“Yeah, but _he_ worries about them.” She nods in Mike’s direction. “Worrying about the team is his job too.”

Al gives her that paternal smile again.

“What’s going on, Skip?” Blip asks, coming up behind them. “Baker?”

She nods in Tommy’s direction. “If he’s a throwing a no -”

“Don’t say it!” Mike hisses, standing up. Ginny can see some of the cameras are turning towards them as they huddle.

“Superstition doesn’t win games.” She huffs.

“Nope, superstition loses games.” Buck grunts.

“So, does overuse of cartilages.” She glances at Mike’s knees and then at Al. “And if he – gets hurt – everything we worked for will be wasted.”

 _Like the time Pop put into me for Baseball -_  she doesn’t say

“I promise I won’t get hurt, Baker.” Mike says, gently.

 _“These splintered dreamstones are promises unmet, fate’s cruel riposte to the decisions of my will.”_ She recites.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Mike barks with a piqued grimace

“It means, that no matter how hard you think you can control your surroundings – you can’t predict what happens out there.” Al answers for her. “And she’s right, Mike.”

“Well, what if he doesn’t get hurt?” Blip asks.

She looks at Blip uncertainly.

“Look, the way I see it, is all this is a question of whether or not Mike gets hurt – what if he doesn’t?” He smiles at her. “I’ve got his back, Gin.” Blip promises. “We’ve all got his back. And Tommy’s.”

“I’ll – see Miller through, Baker.” Mike clasps her shoulder. “And I won’t get hurt.”

“And I’ll switch ‘em both out in the second I think Miller’s running out of gas.” Al promises.

She takes a deep breath and looks at Al. “If Miller doesn’t allow a run through five.” She says, definitively. “You’ll have no objection from me if you’d like to keep Lawson on as his catcher. Of course, it would be your call, Skip.” She says and then glances at Mike. “And his.”

She looks at Mike. He looks at Al. Al smirks. Buck gives her a big fat smile that makes his baby-blue eyes seems baby-bluer. He even goes a step further as to pat her shoulder before he moves away, direct his attention towards the diamond as the Dodgers pitcher winds up.

She motions to the men to let her through so she can go back to her seats.

“Pa-” Mike starts.

“God help me…” She hisses. “If you say Para ti…”

“Para ti, amor.” He bellows loud, cutting her off with a shit eating grin.

The boys whoop and start off a litany of ‘Para ti, amors’.

She waves them off with irritated.

“Your accent sucks.” She shouts as she walks away. “Livan still does it better.”

Livan claps and whistles.

“We’ll see about that!” Mike’s cheeky declaration shadows her.

 

From the defence end, the Dodgers pull out all the stops, switching out their starter for their knuckleball specialist. He bushwhacks through _Padres_ lineup in a superb performance with a range of throws, but it’s his knuckleball that is superlatively envy-worthy.

The bases are loaded when Mike steps up. Ginny had absolutely no doubt from the confidence of his batting stance that if anyone could take their knuckleballer head on, it was Mike Lawson. Though Ginny couldn’t claim expertise on the knuckler, she had a passable mastery on it -  fortuitously enough to throw it frequently to Mike in their one-on-one sessions.  

The first ball is a strike. A changeup that Mike doesn’t swing at; but, he does step back and watching it fly into the catcher’s mitt. The second one is a knuckler, and Mike still doesn’t move his bat, he just steps back with his head moving like he’s tracking the ball.

(It’s a neat trick. One that he’s picked up recently - from her.)

The third one is a knuckler too, and just when it seems like it’s going for a strike, Mike swings gracefully, slugging the ball way over the fence.  His second grand slam in the series.

Also, Tommy Miller throws his no-hitter.

If there was ever a poetic win for the _Padres_ , Ginny thinks in the aftermath, this would be it.

 

* * *

 

The post-game celebrations and press lasted expectedly longer, so Mike told Ginny to go ahead and that he’d meet her straight at the venue. It was a lavish art gallery with one of the rooms set up to function as a stage for a few scenes from the first act of the ballet. Ginny made it just in time before lights out, taking a chair right at the back, holding the seat next to her for Mike.

Risa’s ballet is about a young girl named Giselle who falls in love with a nobleman and Ginny thinks is a testament to Risa’s emotive and dancing abilities that she manages to portray a shy, naïve, demure, virtuous, weak-hearted peasant girl given the complete contrary nature of Risa’s true pretentious, loud and obnoxious personality. Ginny was so mesmerized by Risa’s expressions, her graceful dancing and the story of the ballet that she didn’t see Mike come in. He had to slap her thigh to get her attention and she shifted her seat, frumpy about being distracted from the ballet.

“Okay, which one is Bat-hide again?” Mike mutters beside her after about ten minutes of watching and constantly checking the pamphlet. She elbows his arm to keep his voice down.

“ _Bathilde_.” She corrects him in hushed tones. “That’s _Albrecht’s_ fiancée.”

“Which one’s _Albre-hht_?” (He literally adds phlegm to the last syllable.)

“The nobleman. The dude that _Giselle_ loves.”

“I thought the innkeeper was her boyfriend.”

“No, the innkeeper loves Giselle but she love _Albrecht_.”

“Then who’s Loys?”

“Albrecht’s alias.”

“Ah fuck, this shit makes no sense!”

They get shushed by other members of the audience.

 

The nobleman disguises himself as a villager to woo the innocent _Giselle_. After a rather complicated woebegones, when _Giselle_ learns of his deception, she becomes inconsolable and Risa’s expressions are so genuine, Ginny feels pain for the character. Even Mike who was behaving like an obstreperous child asking her all sorts of annoying questions throughout the performance, is bewildered to silence by her performance. 

He even makes a loud “Lyin’ motherfucker!” comment about _Albrecht_ earning a giggle from her and a flurry of shushes from the others.

 _Giselle_ flies into a mad fit of grief when she flashes back on her time with her lover, and Risa captures _Giselle’s_ erratic dance of madness magnificently. Ginny’s in tears by the time the character dances herself to death.

“She wasn’t kidding, was she?” Mike whispers to a stupefied Ginny as the lights come on and a roll of applause floods through an equally dumbfounded audience. “She dances really well.”

Ginny sobs nodding, wiping away tears. Somehow, she’s able to understand Risa’s spite over losing _Swan Lake._

“Aww…” Mike elbows her. “You’re crying. That’s so cute.”

“Shut up.” She returns.

Mike’s grinning at her and Ginny gets a proper look at him. Boy, does he clean up nice. Ginny grins at him as they rise from the chairs. He scans her head to toe, his appreciation showing, with an open-mouthed grin and twinkling eyes.

Ginny looks down on her sleeveless baby pink bodycon dress, that Evelyn _insisted_ was appropriate for a not-date situation. She also did Ginny’s hair and makeup. (The look in his eyes makes her want to call up Evie and thank her straight away.)

“You look…” He scans her with that sexy expression. “Kinda hot.”

“Mike.” She chides.

“This isn’t a date, right?” He offers her his elbow.

“Yeah, so?” She takes it and allows him to lead her out.

“So…” He sneers. “I can say date-inappropriate things. If you were Blip I’d say the same thing.”

“You’d call Blip hot?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Never said you had to.”

“You’re such a dork.” Ginny giggles.

“I know, right? C’mon. Let me introduce you to Amelia.”

 

 

Ginny’s looking up at a black and white photo of _Dodgers_ manager Leo Durocher shaking hands with Jackie Robinson when Mike brings Amelia Slater by.

Risa’s stepmother seems like an ice queen from her appearance. She’s beautiful, oozes power, intelligence, confidence with an overall take-no-prisoner’s aura. She’s a lot nicer than Ginny expected her to be and certainly undeserving of all of Risa’s caustic remarks.

“You’re Ginny Baker?” Amelia exclaims. “Wow, Risa won’t stop talking about you.”

“Really?” Ginny winces.

“You’re the only person admires.”

“Admire?” Ginny echoes. “Me? You’re kidding!”

Amelia laughs. “Look, my stepdaughter doesn’t ever say nice things – it’s no secret. But I haven’t heard _one_ bad thing about you from her. She wanted me to send you a car to make sure you’d come to LA for this.”

Ginny finds that shocking. She looks at Mike and he shrugs his eyebrows.

“Hey mom!” Risa comes skipping up. She latches her hand into Amelia’s elbow and makes a face at Mike. She gives Ginny a big smile that reminds her of the character she just enacted. “Hey Ginny B!” She says.

“That was a lovely performance, Risa.” Ginny grins. She’s about to praise it some more, but Risa snorts pretentiously.

“Well duh –!” Risa rolls her eyes and tosses her head. “You don't need to look so surprised. I told you I was better than that fugy ho that took _Swan Lake_ from me.”

“Risa.” Amelia warns with a tense smile. “Play nice.”

“Whatever.” Risa waves her hand, like she doesn’t care that Ginny is there. “I’m gonna go hang with my friends, drink some champagne.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Amelia grits her teeth. "I've specifically instructed the staff not to give you any."

"Eh! Whatever. Tell that pest you spawned with my father…” Risa snipes at Amelia. “…to stop bothering me.” She announces snobbishly and prances off.

Amelia shakes her head at her and turns her attention to Mike and Ginny.

“Is she always…?” Mike scratches his beard with an adorably confused expression.

“Yeah.” Amelia smirks.

Ginny giggles.

“She tries her best to show everyone she hates me,” Amelia winks. “But she adores me….you have to just get past that prickly exterior to find the marshmallow underneath.” She says before she excuses herself to meet the others.

“Oh…” Ginny smiles fondly at Mike. “I might know a thing or two about that.”

Mike grins back at her and Ginny had to dig her fingernails into her palm to resist pinching his cheeks.

She’s reads out the epigraph on Durocher’s quote attached the photograph to distract herself. _"I don't care if the guy is yellow or black, or if he has stripes like a fucking zebra. I'm the manager of this team and I say he plays."_

“I wish you had someone in your corner like that…” Mike sighs. “I can’t honestly say it would have been me though.”

He smells like cologne and fresh grass. His body is so warm, Ginny wants to cuddle into him. 

“It was a great game, Old Man.” She slips her hand into his elbow again, stepping closer. “And – if you really did win it for me, then - thank you. It meant a lot.”

“I have half a mind…to fire you.” He mumbles

“Oh?”

“Yeah, can’t date my PT, can I? Patient-therapist privilege and what not?”

“No, you can’t.” She agrees. “But…”

“But?”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll date you after you fire me.” She says.

“Huh.”

“Besides, Al would disapprove.” She sighs. “He wants me to shadow Buck as a pitching coach.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

 “I guess I’ll have keep you on then.” He drawls with a mocking sigh, he slips his arm around her, hugging her to his side. “Settle for being a pain in your perfect pear-shaped ass.”

She gasps with mock indignation.

He gurgles with laughter that vibrates through her, pulls her closer when she tries to pull away. Ginny giggles with him, leaning into his side and slipping her arm around his waist. He half turns and catches her chin, his grin fading into a smile. Ginny lifts her free hand up, and tugs his beard affectionately. He tips closer, dropping his eyes to her mouth, glancing up at her eyes for permission.

Ginny doesn’t want to debate over it any more. She's spent three sleepless nights trying.

(Only a fool would _fall_ for a crush object. Crush objects are things to be looked at from afar, sighed and fawned over from a distance, the infatuation is to be enjoyed for the sake of it. No one really dates their heroes in real life. But here she is, at a not-date with the guy who's her hero for a whole new reason than childish infatuations.

Then there's this hard cold truth: only the bajillion moral violations she’s committing getting all starry eyed and fuzzy about her patient. Unethical, inappropriate, disreputable, unprincipled. All the lovely adjectives that are going to get attached to her once this is blown out in the open.)

Thing is, she doesn’t want to fight it. This magnetic pull that's drawing her to him. She wants to be here in this moment and stay here till she gets kissed.

So, she tilts her face up, and nods slightly...waits to get kissed. 

He traces his forefinger from temple to her jaw, curls the knuckle under her chin and lifts her face up, leaning down with a small smile, brushing the cut ends of his fuzz over her lips. Ginny sighs and closes her eyes, inches her mouth towards his, wetting her mouth and parting it when his minty breath ghosts over.

And then her damn phone rings.

Mike jumps back, seemingly taken by surprise. Ginny’s so confused she fumbles around her purse, ready to hit the red button, throw it away, grab him by the beard and kiss him Harlequin style.

Except…

“It’s my brother.” She murmurs with surprise, pulling out of the embrace.

He blinks away his irritation.

 _“Hey! G!”_ Her brother’s voice greets her.

“Will!” She exclaims. “Hey you goonie! How’s life on the open sea?” She looks at Mike apologetically. He gives her a big encouraging smile and gestures for her to talk.

_“It’s cool, listen. I’m home.”_

“What? Why?”

_“I don’t know how to say this. I got a call from Monique few days back.”_

“Monique? What? Why you? They have my number.”

_“They – I don’t know G. Listen, this is important, okay? It’s Dad.”_

Ginny’s smile fades, blood rushes to her ears and her heart thunders.

_“G! G! Relax! Okay? He’s fine – he’s just…”_

“What?” She asks, urgently, turning around when Mike looks at her with concern.

_“Ginny, he’s lucid.”_

Ginny feels her heartbeat slowing.

_“And he’s asking for you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger.  
> Do we want to know what's happening with out fav people?  
> let me know what you thought of this one!


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey Old Man, how are your knees feeling?”

_“Did you reach home alright?”_

“Yeah, I did…thanks for – taking care of everything.”

_“C’mon Baker, it’s the least I can do.”_

“If I’m being honest – I barely remember the last twelve hours. I’m so sorry about our date.”

_“Aha! So, you admit it! It was a date.”_

She smiles.

_“Worst first date I’ve ever had – didn’t even get a kiss out of it. We need to go another just to fix it.”_

“Mmhmm.”

_“How’s your Dad?”_

“I’m on my way to see him. He’s at a care facility not far from our home. He’s um –”

_“Is he okay?”_

“Yeah – he um…he’s had a stroke about five years ago, it um – he recovered from it physically but it triggered some sort of dementia. He uh –completely lost his memory about three years ago.”

There’s no response.

“Mike?”

_“My god Baker! I’ve been such an asshole!”_

“No – no don’t be. It’s not like…”

 _“Okay, don’t try to trivialize it.”_ He interrupts her. _“Please? I fucked up.”_

“Okay.”

_“So let’s try this again: I’ve been an asshole to you.”_

“Yeah, you kinda have a little.”

 _“Thank you.”_ He chuckles. _“I’m sorry. I really am.”_

“I forgive you.”

_“What’s it…like?”_

“It’s sort of like his body’s here, but _he_ goes away – for a long time. And every time he gets lucid – it’s like he’s back. I mean we visit him as often as we can but the lucid phases feel critically important…” She sighs. “It’s like I’ve got my Pop, again.”

_“You take as long as you like, ‘kay? I’m focussing on the way I run – like you told me. And I’m being super honest here, I haven’t felt any pain. Kiki’s following all your instructions, and I promise you I won’t pull any stunts.”_

She smiles.

_“I’m here, Ginny – I mean – if you…wanna y’know? Talk. I’m sure the patient-therapist privilege works both ways, right?”_

“It doesn’t.”

_“How about a friend to friend privilege?”_

“Oh, so we’re back to being friends now?”

There’s a loud hitch in his breath. His voice loses all humour. “ _Baker, I…_ ”

She’s not ready to open this can of worms. “I appreciate it, Mike. Everything.” Ginny cuts him off.  “All best for the game old man.”

He lets out a long sigh. _“Para ti, amor.”_ He says, in place of a goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

Her father doesn’t recognize her at first. It’s not for the same reasons as the innumerable number of times in the past that he hadn’t recognized her.

He’s sitting in the common room of the facility, sprawled in the armchair and watching the Padres take on the Diamondbacks, snorting and commenting to himself unintelligibly. (She hasn’t seen him do that in years.)

His stocky, sturdy body looks leaner, but it’s in no way withered. His moustache is almost white. His skin is slightly sallow but there’s hardly any wrinkles. It seems like the years of physical work had sustained some vigour in a body betrayed by its mind.

“Heya Pop!” She announces herself.

He turns his head towards her, frowning with confusion. For an instant, she wonders if he’s truly coherent. But, then when his eyes go wide with recognition and amazement. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time. Ginny gets a grasp on how much of a time lapse he must have been experiencing just from that look alone.

As she hesitantly steps closer his eyes start to glisten with emotion that she rarely ever saw – even before…

“Little girl? That you?” He whispers.

In her earliest memories of him, she couldn’t have been taller than his knee, there was more affection in his countenance, more excitement in his demeanour, less sternness in his attitude – above all, when pride was never hidden. He seemed so big and fun, then.

And it’s the same face she sees now.

“Yeah Pop!” She sobs, dropping her handbag, hurrying inside, wanting nothing more than to embrace him.

Except, she drops to her knees just next to the armrest. Even now, her body’s conditioned to think twice before launching at him. It wasn’t his way to show exuberance and if he did, Ginny’s certain she wouldn’t know how to deal with it. He gapes at her, entranced and bewildered, slowly sitting up in the chair.

“You’re all grown up!” He says with wonderment, searching her face blankly.

And then, he smiles.

His smiles were frequent after his cognition started to fail and all inhibition was lost. But those smiles seemed vapid – empty.

This smile – is intentional; for her and her alone. The last time she remembered it being that wide was when he caught the nectarine and found it un-indented. (A perfect screwball.)

“Yeah.” She nods, unable to curb the width of her grin.

“You’re as pretty as your mother.” He whispers, gently clapping the side of her face. His hands seems softer now. Less  - used. “God help me, you’re beautiful, Ginnybean.”

(She was six - the last time he called her Ginnybean.) Her eyes flood with tears and she swallows them back, by habit. He always hated crying – in any form.

His thumb runs across her cheek and Ginny sees remorse flash on his face. She wonders if Will told him about Mom. But then he pats the armchair beside him. “I’m sorry, little girl, the last thing I remember is our meeting with the schoolboard when they weren’t allowing you to play on the boys team…” he says, shaking his head, “can’t place a thing after that. The nice lady named Monique told me I’ve got some sort of dementia. Will said that the last time I was myself was…”

“Two years ago.” Ginny nods, reigning in her emotions as she goes around to occupy the seat.

“How does it work?” He asks, bringing the volume down on the TV.

“I dunno Pop.” She sighs. “Last time, you were lucid for a whole week.”

 “Well I don’t remember that…” He sighs, wiping his face. “What about otherwise? Do I recognize you?”

“Sometimes.”  Ginny smiles sadly. “Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t.”

“My grandma had Alzheimers.” He says, looking at the TV. “I don’t recall my ma, ever havin’ it.”

“It’s a vascular dementia Pop – you had a stroke.”

“All limbs seem to be workin’ fine.” He looks down on himself, wiggling his fingers and toes.

“It hit your mind, Pop.” She says.

He nods pensively. Ginny knows that look. It’s when she’s had a lousy game but he’s convinced that she did everything right. The: ‘it was just a bad game, forget about it and move on’ look. And sure enough, his eyes meet hers after a few moments of contemplation. “I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we, Ginnybean?”

 

* * *

 

“Hello?”

_“How are ya? How’s your Dad?”_

“Good.” She smiles. “I er – brought him home for the weekend. He wanted to be in familiar surroundings as long as he had his wits.”

_“That’s nice. What else d’you do?”_

“We watched the game – your game. That was a genius double play, Old Man. Pop was impressed – and believe me, it takes a lot to impress him.”

He sniggers. _“What about Pop’s daughter?”_

“Pop’s daughter gets freaked out every time you throw on your knees.”

He chuckles. _“My knees feel fine.”_ He answers, before she can get the question out.

“Thank god.” She sighs and then smiles, knowing he can’t see it.

 _“What else?”_ He asks, sweetly.

“We played catch – in our backyard. It felt good – just like – the old days, I guess.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah, baseball’s always been his first love, I guess. Kinda like for you.”

 _“Nope.”_ He chirps. _“My first love was Sharon Bodine. I was in first grade and she was in second. She was the tiniest thing but lord help me, she had such a mouth on her, Baker! It was love at first speech!”_

Ginny bursts into laugh.

He moans a sigh. _“Yeah – but – of all the memories I would hate to lose, Baseball would be high on the list.”_

“I’ll bet it’s right at the top.”

There’s a small silence. _“No.”_ He says _. “There’s a person right at the top – and I’d hate to forget her.”_ His voice is filled with fondness. _“Yeah, it’s only been three, maybe four months – barely a day since she’s been gone – but I miss her.”_

Ginny’s laughter subsides.

_“You know what I miss the most?”_

“Mm?”

_“Catching your lollipop fastball!”_

 She bursts into chuckles again.

_“Listening to your feminsta rants…”_

“Feminista rants?”

_“And the way you constantly interrupt me…and boss me around.”_

Her chuckles change to loud guffaws.

_“Oh, that horsey laugh!”_

She gasps loudly. “Horsey laugh? What? What is that?”

She can hear his grin through his voice. “That woo-hoo-hoo! I’m missin’ that right now – as we speak.”

“Oh well!” She sputters. “I miss your crankiness and your eye rolling and your speeches – they’re far too long and – the way you whine like a little bitch-baby about yoga. Mostly I’m missing those backhanded compliments.”

 _“And the beard, you miss the beard?”_ His voice drops to low (sexy) tones.

“No – nope.”

 _“Not even a little.”_ He murmurs.

She definitely misses the beard. “I’ll never miss the beard.” She declares.

They snort out chuckles for a little bit and slip into a comfortable silence.

 _“Must have been tough.”_ He says. _“Watching him lose his memory.”_

“It was…” Ginny shakes her head, remembering those moments when her father would look at her with abject fear and freak out, not knowing who she was. “I don’t know what is worse. Knowing that I never did make it to the majors, or that he wouldn’t remember the journey even if I did.”

_“Baker, even if you were a man – making it to the bigs…staying in the bigs…it’s all a game of chance. All it takes is one injury and it’s done.”_

“Yeah I know…” She sighs.

 _“I uh – ”_ He trials off. There’s a pregnant silence in which it feels like he wants to say more but, instead all he says is. _“I gotta go.”_

“Yeah okay, good luck for the games.”

 _“Para ti, amor.”_ He says in a blank voice.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, Pop.” Will says.

Ginny is silent. She fortifies her face with emotionlessness, a threadbare visor holding a bundle of anger, resentment and frustration. She cannot even think of her mother without wanting to hiss and spit in retaliation. All these years, she thought she’d worked through it all, she thought she had managed to forgive Mom, even tried to keep a civil relationship with her.

But, seeing the shattered look on Pop’s face when Will explains why his mother is no longer living in their house, when he tells Pop about _Kevin –_ it just drudges it up all over again.

“Your mother always warned me Baseball would be the reason our marriage fell apart.” Pop says, after a long silence. His face resets faster than she expected. He gets that same ‘it was just a bad game, forget about it and move on’ expression. He looks up at Will. “She always complained that I never gave you enough time, either.”

Ginny knows Will has always borne that open wound seething underneath the surface. He looks like he wants to cry for a brief interval and then he grins in his usual flippant way and brushes it off. “It’s cool Pop – I turned out okay.” He says, cheerfully. “So did she…” He says, looking at Ginny with pride. “She went to college on a full scholarship. She’s got Doctor attached to her name. And now she’s working with the _Padres_. They even want to take her on as a coach. Maybe it’s not _the_ glass ceiling you wanted her to break but – it’s still _a_ glass ceiling.”

“I didn’t want her to break any glass ceilings, Son.” Pop shakes his head. “Talk like that’s for historians and critics. I just wanted her to play ball.” Pop looks at her meaningfully. “In an arena – where she’d be appreciated for her gift.”

When he glances back at Will, Will nods with complete understanding on his face. Ginny looks down. “’M sorry I didn’t see it through, Pop.” Ginny says. “I made it the High A’s. I know that’s not much.”

“That’s a lot.” Pop says, surprising her. Ginny’s head snaps up. “Ginny – I know I pushed you hard as a child. I never let you imagine a life without the dream. Thing is, sweetheart, when you realize your kid has potential to do something nobody else had done before – that she just might change the game.” Pop tips his head to her. “It demands a special type of sacrifice. _No_ room for the slightest doubt. ‘Cause I knew the whole world was gonna be fighting against my little girl because she was gonna make things uncomfortable. If I let her take things for granted – even for a single second – it might have been worse for her, than it was for me.”

Ginny nods.

“Dreams don’t always work out the way we want.” He sighs with resignation. “And that’s okay.” He glances at Will and back at her. “I am proud – of the both of you. However I may have failed you both as a father, I want you two to always remember that.”

 

* * *

 

“My mother was the reason he had the stroke.” She says, just after he answers the phone.

This is a conversation for Blip or Evelyn. She doesn’t know why it’s so easy to tell Mike – of all the people.

There’s a heavy silence on the other end.

“She was having an affair – with this guy.” Ginny says. “I knew about it – for a long time. She started the affair when I was in middle school. I never said anything. I thought if –  maybe if I tried things my Mom’s way, she might come back to Dad.”

_“By her way meaning?”_

“Be like the other girls. Wear pretty dresses. Go for the school dance.”

_“Oh.”_

“The day I got the acceptance letter from NC state,” She says. “that was the day that Mom told Pop she was leaving him. She had already packed up and the man - _Kevin_ was waiting on her outside in his car. I thought Pop wanted to be alone, so I let him be. Couple of hours later, I came downstairs and found him on the floor. I don’t know why he didn’t cry out. Even at his weakest, he was too proud to let it show.”

He lets out a short gasp.

“I felt I owed it to Pop to go pro.” She continues, before he can speak. “His memory lapses weren’t for long back then. I think a part of me wished that if I made it – he’d be whole again. I tried – Mike – but I guess I didn’t try hard enough. It got to me. All the comments and the snide remarks and the…feeling of being this big inconvenience to this old boys club…” She breaks off with a sob.

_“Baker…”_

“So I gave up fightin’. I decided to go where I was wanted.” She says, quickly. “USC was happy to give me a free ride on the condition that I joined their softball team.” She shakes her head and wipes her face, grateful that they’re having this conversation on the phone. She couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Old Man – I didn’t want to unburden this on you.”

_“Hey don’t you apologize, Ginny. Friend to friend, remember?”_

“It’s just – this one decision I made – to choose that pretty dress Mom got me for the school dance – it eventually cost me both parents.” She huffs. “I can’t – I can’t see past it at times.”

There’s a long huff from his head.

“We didn’t tell him – that, that it was _the_ reason for the stroke. He doesn’t remember that day. Will’s better at sugar coating it – so I guess Pop accepted that she just left him later. He didn’t ask too many questions. He even told me, I should forgive her. _It’s worth, nothin’ holdin’ on to hate_ – ‘s what he said.”

_“And do you? Hate her, I mean?”_

“I don’t think so. I’m still angry. I resent her, sure. But, I never told her that I knew what she and _Kevin_ had been doing all those years – even before she physically left. She always said that Baseball destroyed her marriage – took her daughter away from her. That losing me – was the most painful thing she’s ever had to bear.”

There’s a long silence where they don’t speak.

 _“Look, I’m not – trying to defend your Mom or anything but…”_ he says, “ _I always saw things as the spouse having it worse.”_ Mike says _. “I know a whole bunch of us don’t acknowledge that but…truth is, majority of the WAGs have to cope like single moms.”_ He sighs. _“Rachel always told me that I put Baseball ahead of everything, even when I didn’t need to. And she was right. I think that’s why she had the affair. Maybe it was the same? With your Dad and Mom? Maybe he just stopped…I dunno…noticing her?”_

“Maybe. I don’t know much about these things.” Ginny sighs. “I see what Evelyn puts up with all the time. She was in her final year of business studies at college. And I remember how there were all these smart, intelligent guys who were so in awe of her.  And she _is_ crazy smart – Mike! That woman could have been running three companies by now…if it hadn’t been for…”

_“For Blip’s career and…the twins.”_

“Yeah! And every time we meet up with her old friends, I can see it in her eyes. That sense of…I don’t know what it is. I wonder if Blip fully realizes what she’s sacrificed. I know she’s okay with it. I know she loves her life – but it’s just an unfulfilled thing, y’know?”

_“Like a splintered dreamstone.”_

“Yeah. Exactly like that. And – I know my Mom just wanted us to be a family. You know? For it to not be about baseball all the time? So – even though I resent her, I can’t fully hate her.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Ginny senses that he’s allowing her to gather herself.

 _“What’s it like now, having him back?”_ He asks.

“A little weird?” Ginny answers, surprised that she’s able to speak without any of that spite in her voice.

_“Why?”_

“Well, he wasn’t really like the pampering sort, back then. He was very strict. More my coach and less a father. All about - tough love. Always focussed on the next pitch, the next inning, the next game, the next task. Y’know, any time I accomplished something really great –  like made the cut, or won a game I’d go: ‘We did it, Pop!’ And he’d say…”

 _“We ain’t done nothin’ yet?”_ He completes.

“Yeah.” Ginny traps her bottom lip under her teeth, sheepishly.

 _“Geez – your weird quirk just became less weird.”_ He chuckles.

She grins. The irritation and frustration that had been seething inside her at the thought of ‘Mom and Kevin’ seems like a dream now. “Weird quirk?” She snorts. “You say ‘ _Para ti amor’_ like it’s some sort of sacred chant…”

 _“It is a sacred chant!”_ He defends. _“Wins games!”_

“No, it doesn’t. It’s a superstition! Superstition is for wimps!”

He sniggers. “What’s it like now with him? He still the same?”

“Now – he’s just, sort of – loosened up, he’s more relaxed – more Dad-like.” She snorts.

_“Sounds like fun.”_

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a brief silence in which she detects some restlessness.

_“I uh…I have to go. The guys are – waitin’ on me?”_

“Yeah.” Ginny smiles, feeling a little remorseful for having taken up so much of his time.

“ _Para ti, amor_.” He says. Ginny snickers hearing the smug audacity in his voice

\---

 

“Do you have a special someone, Ginnybean?” Her father asks her in the same tone as he asks her to pass the salt. “A boyfriend?”

Ginny almost chokes on the morsel of food in her mouth. “Pop!”

Will stifles a chuckle.

Pop rolls his eyes at her reaction. “If you ever brought your beau to meet me, I wouldn’t remember. So, I’m just askin’.”

“No Pop.” Ginny blushes. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yet.” Will mutters. She kicks him under the table.

“And I’ve never really brought anyone to meet you…either.” She says, loudly.

“What’s he like?” Pop asks.

“I told you Pop, I don’t have a…”

“This _boy_ who’s _not_ your boyfriend _yet_.” Her father gives her pointed look, chewing his bacon. No smile, though. (Of course, Pop would suss her out.)

“He’s – nice.” Ginny says.

“Woah!” Will claps the table, his mouth doing that funny thing when he knows she’s getting in trouble and he’s going to get a good laugh out of it. “How’d you figure it out, Pop?”

“The last time your sister blushed like that, she was twelve and she asked me to get her that poster of Mike Lawson.” Pop answers with a frown.

“Mike Lawson huh?” Will coughs.

Ginny’s smile freezes. She turns it on Will, flashing a murderous glare, gets that silly smirk in return. “Okay, this is like ten levels of inappropriate.” She says, tapping her plate.

“Why?” Pop corners her, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Because – it’s you.” She shrugs.

“You’re not a child anymore, Ginny. You’re a grown woman. There’s nothin’ wrong with you having a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Pop – but it’s still weird if you ask me about it directly.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re living with him? Tell me the man had the decency to commit before y’all decided to cohabit.”

Will spews his orange juice, gurgling with laughter.

“What? No!” Ginny sputters. “No, Pop! I’m not living with him! We’re not – I’m not - it’s not anything!”

He stares at her, chewing his food and then gets a frustrated look. “Please don’t tell me it’s that skinny white boy you played with high school. What was his name? Jordan something?”

“Ugh! No!”

“Not a skinny white boy, at least.” Will mumbles.

Ginny drops her fork and glares openly at Will. He sniggers and shakes his head.

“Okay. If you’re that touch about it I’ll let it go.” Pop lets out an annoyed sigh. “What’s it like working with Mike Lawson?” He adds in the same breath.

Ginny can’t help the stuffed expression on her face. Pop narrows his eyes at her.

“Great, great, it’s fine, it’s great – it’s amazing.” Ginny croaks, looking down at her food. “He’s – he works hard. He’s focussed and cooperative. He’s kind. He’s nice.”

She drinks her water, simultaneously trying to take deep breaths to calm herself down. When Pop doesn’t say anything Ginny assumes he’s done with the inquisition on her love life. She looks up at him, ready to start talking about… ( _anything else)_

Except, Pop’s still looking at her, pensively. “He’s nice?” Pop says. “Like your young man – is nice?”

Will starts giggling. “I wouldn’t necessarily call him young.” Will sings.Ginny kicks him under the table.

“Yes…” She answers, trying to keep a straight face.

“Hmm.” Pop snorts and goes back to looking at his food.

“So, I was thinking.” Ginny says, “maybe you wanna meet the estate lawyer when we go into town this afternoon, rather than later this evening?”

“Yeah.” He says, still giving her that narrow eyed thoughtful expression. “Does he treat you well?”

“What? Yeah, he’s – really pleasant. I mean I know he comes off as this really cocky, fly by the seat of your pants guy on TV, but he’s not. He’s quite a genuine guy and to be honest he’s really considerate of…”

“I wasn’t talking about Mike Lawson.”

“Oh. You’re not?” She lets out a nervous laugh.

“No, but something tells me he’s all _you’re_ thinking about.” Pop remarks as he gets up to clear the plate.

Ginny can feel the warmth in her cheeks. Will gives her that cheeky grin while Pop just gives her a knowing half-smirk.

 

* * *

 

He’s a little reticent on the phone, when she calls him. He answers her queries in monosyllables until she finally offers to hang up.

There’s no ‘Para ti, amor’ this time. It creeps her out to the point that Ginny’s surprised herself.

Her phone beeps with a text. _Para ti, amor._

Ginny rolls her eyes and lets it go. She figures he’s tired and wants to sleep off the exhaustion, since the Padres had returned for the home games.

She finishes her chores, chats with Pop about the Padres chances at making the Wild Card. Just as she’s about to turn in for the night, her phone rings.

 _“I uh – I gotta…I want to tell you something.”_ He says, quickly, just before she gets in her ‘hello’.

“Okay? What’s up?”

_“You’ve got about six weeks left of your contract, right? Then Al’s going to suggest your name for the coaching pool.”_

“Yeah. Well I haven’t really agreed to that yet. You fed up already, Old Man? Want me out of your hair?”

_“Cute.”_

“Okay, what’s going on?”

_“Al wants me to renew the contract for another few months – but um – I don’t want to.”_

“Oh.” She can’t help the stab of disappointment. “Well…it’s your decision, Mike.”

_“Actually, it’s yours.”_

“Mine?”

 _“Look, I – it’s not important, right now. Just – be with your dad, okay?”_  

She detects the concealed longing in his voice – like he wants to say something pertinent. So she prods gently. “Mike?”

He huffs long and loud _. “Okay I kinda wanted to tell you this yesterday – and the day before.”_

“Okay?

_“And I’m not trying to make this about me. I mean, I tend to do that but this isn’t really the same. I don’t know what it’s like to have – what you had with your Dad. And it’s worse when you lose something you’ve always had. I guess – it’s - easier when it wasn’t yours in the first place. So, I can only imagine what watching his decline might have felt like for you.”_

She waits.

_“But…I sorta maybe know what it felt like for you – when he’s not himself. You have that person who influenced you the most, however short the amount of time you spent with him. Someone so, significant that you might choose your career because of him. Someone being there –physically – but not being there with you, for you. I mean, he’s right there, but you can’t reach him and he can’t reach you”_

Ginny knows this isn’t about her, and there’s more. So, she stays silent.

_“My father – he lives just a couple of hours away from me.”_

“Really? I always thought you were raised by a…”

_“Single mom? Dad was never in the picture? Yeah, it’s like the easiest narratable storyline.”_

“What is the real one then?” She asks, slowly, “the one that can’t be narrated?”

_“I’m pretty sure I was the unintentional by-product of a one night stand.”_

“Oh.”

_“One man’s marital indiscretion plus my mom miscalculating her safe days minus protection equals to one me.”_

The acid in his voice stings her core. She doesn’t know what to say.

_“My mom and I…we moved to Poway once.” He says. “We moved around - like every month. She was a – free spirit. She could never hold on to a job. One day, she just decided to move back to Poway. She took me to this ballpark, and introduced me to this really great, really nice guy – the coach of the Little League team. I wanted to play first base...like Will Clark….”_

“ _You_ wanted to play first base?” She gasps.

 _“I know, right?”_ He snorts. _“But Coach Dave – he was of the opinion that I be a catcher.”_ He lets out a pleasant sound. _“I gotta tell you Baker! I loved it from the first moment I put on that facemask!”_

“Wow! So Dave was like - a father figure to you?”

The minute she hears that bitter chuckle she knows she needs to put her size nine-and-half foot into her mouth.

 _“He was no father figure!”_ He grunts. _“Nope!”_ He sighs. “ _As it turns out…he was my father. My biological father.”_

Ginny’s speechless.

“ _He was – he let me play on the team without charging mom the enrolment fee. He couldn’t give me anything more – neither legally nor financially without raising questions. I saw his family, his legitimate one. He had a wife and kids – a son. He might have been a year or so younger than I. He had a daughter – she was definitely older than I was.”_

Ginny grips the phone tight. (It feels like the closest thing she can get to his body – his arm, his face, his shoulders, his back – him)

 _“I didn’t find out he was my father until much later. And I – never met him, face to face - after that. I thought about reconnecting with him – several times. After I made it to the majors, when they named me Rookie of the Year – when I was awarded the Gold Glove…”_ Ginny can almost imagine the lost, wistful look in his eyes. “ _When I got engaged…”_ His voice softens. “ _To Rachel…”_

Ginny closes her eyes and lets tears of sympathy that he can’t see run down her cheeks.

 _“I always made it to his neighbourhood –  always to the street he lived on. Sometimes all the way up to his house…”_ He lets out a small groan. “ _I never got out of the car…always, chickened out last minute.”_

“Chickened out?” Ginny exclaims, despite her instinct to stay silent. The gaping wound so obvious in his voice that it evokes a fierce protectiveness in her. (She wants to run to him, hold him in her arms.) “You’re Mike Lawson –” She says. “It’s a privilege to meet you.”

_“It still doesn’t change the fact that I was – and I still am - his dirty little secret.”_

Ginny can’t control the loudness of her sob.

_“I’m sorry, Gin – I didn’t mean to make this about me…”_

“Mike…I – I don’t mind.” She says, unsteadily. “Friend to friend, remember?”

He lets out this long rough sigh. _“Everything I’ve achieved oddly feels – like this – I don’t know what you call it…?”_ His voice gets softer, shakier. _“My very first time playing in the majors, we won. They named me MVP that season. I would wonder – if he was watching. I mean, I knew the Padres was Dave’s favourite team – I mean the man lives in in San Diego county for cryin’ out loud! I always pictured this one day where he’d try to contact me? And I had something to show him. Something, that I could make him proud of. What do you call that?”_

“I dunno -? A cry for acknowledgment, maybe?”

_“Yeah that sounds about right.”_

“You don’t resent him for it? Not – owning you.”

_“It’s so strange – that I don’t.  At some point I came to realize that no matter what I did, Baker, it was never enough. When Rachel decided she was done with me, when I found her – with that, that guy? That’s the day it hit me. No matter how good I try to be – I’ll never be good enough.”_

“But that’s not true! You’ve accomplished, so much, Mike.” She cries, sitting up. “Surely that counts for something?” And she glances up. Above her on the slanted roof of her room there’s a poster of Mike Lawson, looking on in the distance after swinging – clean shaven, grinning, young and a picture of perfect health. For some reason that Mike Lawson doesn’t arouse half as much as passion in her as the one across the phone – this hairy, grumpy, older, flawed but such an incredible person.

 _“And then you walk into my hospital room – into my life.”_ He says in a gentle voice, as though he’s trying to assuage her outburst. “ _When I was the worst version of myself. When I treated you like crap! And you just, you made me…and by ‘me’, I mean as I am – this moody fuckup with his lousy knees and his waning career. This… kid from whose Dad couldn’t accept him, whose wife doesn’t want him, whose team was ready to move on without him – you made it okay for me – to just be me. Just by being there – just by being you._ ” She can imagine him shaking his head. “ _I can’t tell you what that means, Ginny.”_

“Mike…”

 _“It’s like – whatever happened, however painful it all was, Baker. Never having my father as mine, never having my wife as mine, never having the game as mine…”_ He lets out a loud gravelly sigh that Ginny duplicates unwittingly. “ _Knowing you,”_ He says, in a calm, collected voice, “ _– it – it made it all worthwhile.”_

Ginny swallows hard.

“ _I don’t think I’d be able to tell you all this if we were face to face. I mean, I thought I’d wait till you were back but I just realized that I don’t think I could handle saying all this without trippin’ over my words.”_ He clears his throat. “ _You’re young, you’re smart, you’re independent. You certainly deserve a whole lot more than what I can offer, Baker. Blip thinks I’m transferring my feelings…because of Rachel. He’s worried I’ll hurt you. And I have no answer, no defence, no justification to convince him otherwise. I always end up hurting people who care about me.”_

Ginny thinks of things to say but she can’t form words.

 “ _The idea of you being hurt, for any reason – worst of all, if it’s because of me…”_ He lets out a sibilant noise, _“I can’t do it, Baker. I couldn’t live with myself. But, there’s only one thing worse than that for me. It’s to imagine any life without you in it.”_

She’s overwhelmed, to say the least.

_“Look, I don’t mean to pressure you or put you in a tough spot. I know things are complicated, and I know you can’t be thinking of this right now so – so, don’t answer. Just think over it, because if what I’m not telling you now and what I want to tell you in person is going to be unwelcome, then I’ll be real happy to renew the contract, be your friend and never pick this up again.”_

The lump in her throat feels dry and painful.

“ _I have to go now, but – Al’s making me sit out the next two games. Honestly I think he’s worried you’ll kill him if he works me too hard.”_ He chuckles. _“Anyway, I’m sorry if I…”_

“I want you to meet my Dad.” She blurts.

He gasps.

“I er…I’d like you to meet him I mean.” She says. “If you – you can make the time. I mean.”

There’s no response.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything more than it is, Mike.” She says. “I mean, think of it as meeting a friend’s Dad? Not that I’d ever invite you if we were…just friends. I don’t know how long he’ll be _him_ or - when he’ll be _him_ again and if we were toge-”

 _“You mean that?”_ His voice sounds thready.

“Yes. But only if you want to.” Ginny grins, filled with hope.

 _“Trust me_ Baker..." His voice is filled with a hope that echoes her own. " _I want to.”_

* * *

 

 

The look on Mike’s face when he spots her at the arrival lounge of the airport, makes Ginny feel like a million bucks. She sees him before he sees her. He’s wearing his usual scowl, drifting around, thumbing his phone and then his eyes connect with hers and suddenly it feels like some internal floodlight comes on. She’s rewarded with a cheeky, lopsided grin and wide happy eyes. He looks like a happy, smug little boy, with a beard.  

She doesn’t feel inclined to hold back her glee when she opens her arms out intending to hug him. He stops just short of her arm’s length.

“I love you.” He breathes.

(Even before she could get out a pithy “Hi!” )

Ginny blinks and her arms drop to the side.

His face comically falls flat. “Yeah – that’s the – thing I wanted to say in person that I didn’t wanna say on the phone.”

Her mouth hangs open.

“I figured I better say it now. I’m great with moms, Baker, but when it comes to dads… _woah!_ ” He gets an adorably freaked out expression. “If your Pop pulls a shotgun on me, I might actually pee in my pants and I’d never work up the courage.”

Ginny pulls her mouth in, unable to control that joyous feeling that mushrooming inside. 

“Erm…” She tries to keep a straight face, wetting her mouth before she speaks. “My father doesn’t own a shotgun.”

“Phew!”

“And ‘m sure he’s excited to meet you. He likes you.”

The tension in his voice just shatters and a carefree and relieved chuckle breaks through. “Thank goodness. Clearly a man of good taste.” Mike snorts, his face relaxing under that smug, cocky aura.

“But he’ll probably disapprove of you as a potential boyfriend.” She says, through her teeth.

He throws his head back and laughs. “Thank goodness. Clearly a man of good judgement.”

Ginny chuckles.

“Potential boyfriend, ha?”

“That kinda depends on how you kiss.” She says, boldly stepping forward.

Ginny’s enveloped in bear hug, her mouth pleasantly assaulted with a scratchiest most ardent kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and almost squeals when he bends on his knees, winding his arms around her waist, pulling her feet off the ground. She giggles against his mouth.

She can feel his grin lining her lips as he deepens the kiss. “I love you too.” Her words are muffled against his mouth.

Of all the dreams she’s had, this is one she never anticipated to come true. And also, Ginny realizes – it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

 

\--the end--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have Pop die before Ginny and Mike got their HEAs, but then since we don't have a Pitch renewal yet, I figure let's end things on a hopeful note.  
> I hope y'all aren't too disappointed but I felt this was where I needed to leave it.  
> Thank you to everyone who appreciated this fic and took time to review it.


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